Behind The Crimson Door
by Licensetocreep
Summary: Her, Ceres Genavieve, American muggle-born Gryffindor, the object of infatuation for both a Hogwarts Professor and the Slytherin Prince? The girl wondered if there could possibly be a more ludicrous idea. Luna Lovegood herself would find this laughable.Y5
1. Unaccompanied Minor

**Hello** my darling and welcome to what is probably some of my best writing on here. And I'm a damn good writer. No, really, I promise this fic will not be another pointless Mary-Sue and is actually worthy of your time. Honest to Goddess.  
This is my fan-written take on OTP. I've pretty much taken the whole book on a joy ride, cause it seemed like a good idea at the time and the characters in my head have a story to tell.  
This will be "epic" in proportions; meaning many chapters, new over-arching characters and ideas, and a pretty crazy whirlwind of a ride that I think will leave my lovely readers a little breathless when its all said and done. Life is a bit of a comedy, so of course there's going to be random humor. As well as romance, and shit tons of drama. Which I'm not used to writing but adapting to fairly quickly.  
I am going to try hard to keep this T, but there will be strong language and violence. I'm going to try and keep it smut free, though if its requested enough I will just do a one shot somewhere, Deleted Scences or something of the sort.  
What are you doing still reading this? The fanfiction below is so much better! As always, a writer cannot continue without knowing their stuff is worth reading, so please Read and Review! Suggestions are welcome, of any kind.  
I hope you all enjoy reading this as much I as enjoyed writing it.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of Harry Potter, all belongs to the amazing JK Rowling. The only things I can claim are my OC's. So, don't sue, cause I'm flat broke. Song used is Help, I'm Alive by Metric.

**Many a thanks to:** Rave aka Your Shadow Light, for giving me the inspiration to write pretty much everything I do.

* * *

**Behind The Crimson Door  
**Chapter 1: Unaccompanied Minor

_My regrets are few  
If my life is mine,  
What shouldn't I do?  
I get wherever I'm going,  
I get whatever I need  
_~*~

Trapped in this cacophony of people, surrounded by strangers in a completely unfamiliar setting, of two things our protagonist was sure of. First, wearing all black was a bad idea.

Second, "muggles" had to be the most unobservant people on the face of the planet to not notice the practical queue line of people with odd carts containing various animals disappearing into a brick column.

It had seemed like a good idea last night; the black. But now, with the eyes of those who shouldn't look twice lingering on her form like numerous nagging weights, it no longer felt like a wise choice. Though as she noticed that of the hundreds of people here at King's Cross only she was unaccompanied, her mind became immediately decided.

Black would do.

Boarding the train was simple enough. First day paranoia had made her early; the Platform currently housing a sparse amount of equally paranoid parents. They struggled with the cases they had over-packed, trying to force them onto the train by any means necessary.

With her own brand of magic, the woman levitated the bag onto the train with careless ease. Ignoring the strange looks and hushed whispers of her soon-to-be fellow students, she claimed a compartment for her own company. A soft chirp resounded from the cage as the witch went about stowing her luggage. The sound had been produced by a small yet cunning green finch, looking out at the gray sky in longing.

"I'm sorry Brigid, but I probably shouldn't let you out until we get to the school," she apologized, taking a seat beside her avian companion. The sounds of fellow students boarding the express became a hushed background noise, causing the woman to ponder for the 57nth time how Hogwarts had found her.

The sudden "disappearance" of her parents coupled with arrival of her letter could not be coincidence, of this she was certain. However, that also meant that for the past five years of her life her parents had **known **what she was, even as they tried to suffocate her in Christianity and customs. It meant that her parents were not ignorant to her abilities, but horrified to the point of somehow secluding her Hogwarts.

Again, the end conclusion raised another question. How could non-magical parents be able to hide her away, unless they were magical themselves? And if so, what reason would they then have to do any of the aforementioned tasks? Surely keeping a magically gifted child from the knowledge of the greatest wizard ever born was an endeavor requiring constant attention. The stress alone would have caused a mental breakdown; a motive for their "disappearance".

But then what reason would her parents, if magical and thus assuming they accepted said magic, have to reject her for these past 16 years of life?

It was then the compartment door flew open, snatching the young woman from that train of inquiry, something for which she was internally grateful. Questions without answers were a source of constant aggravation.

The source of the interruption was two boys and a girl, all about her age.

"Do you mind if we join you?" the lone woman asked, brunette and clutching a gargantuan orange tabby.

"Every where else is full," the red-headed boy explained, freckled and lanky; as if his growth-spurt hadn't quite evened out yet.

"Not at all," she answered kindly, mentally groaning as the accent immediately announced her country of origin.

"Well, I'm Ron Weasly, these are my best mates; Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter," the ginger boy introduced his fellows.

"Ceres Genavieve."

"Well it's a pleasure to meet you Ceres," the woman _Hermione_, she reminded herself; replied kindly.

"Right back at ya," Ceres answered casually, observing the three with mild interest.

"So, you're an American?" Ron asked, earning a small punch on the arm from his female companion.

"Yeah, I flew over from Massachusetts; one of the ones in North – East corner," the American explained, watching with intrigue as Hermione began to process the information, internal gears quickly at work.

"Oh yes," she quickly finished, "that's in New England, not far from Canada."

The remark earned a smile of acknowledgement from Ceres, and looks of bewilderment from her friends.

"What? We did geography in Muggle Studies."

"So, this is your first year then?" the black haired boy, _Harry_; she committed to memory; asked her. She nodded in reply.

"Yep. I've practiced magic on my own though since I was a kid. Tomorrow morning they're giving me a placement test to decide what year they're throwing me into."

"There's another type?" Ron 'asked', completely confounded.

"Called Wicca, one of many."

"Its all only theory," the Granger dismissed.

"To some," Ceres challenged.

"The theory is that, well…basically, there are two types of magic; internal and external. The internal is the stuff witches and wizards like you guys are born with, the kind you use everyday at Hogwarts. The external is the natural magic that occurs in everything around you; its what makes potions work, gives magical creatures their powers.

"Wicca is the belief that you can tap into that power and focus it into a spell. Simple spells don't need much, sometimes nothing more than a coherent thought. More complex spells and rituals require tools, ranging from herbs and crystals to an athame; a ritual knife; to help the caster summon and focus the power…do you guys follow me so far?"

"Well enough," the men answered, while Hermione seemed to be on the edge of her seat.

"Now, internal magic differs from person to person, carrying its own unique signature as well. This is how the Ministry catches underage wizards and such breaking the law. However, external magic all has the same uniform signature. So, if a person uses this 'earth' magic, the energy used would go unnoticed by the Ministry and thus practice underage magic."

She paused then, giving the trio a moment to speak what questions they had been holding in, barely so.

Harry started first.

"But then why aren't there loads of wizards doing this stuff?"

"Because," Hermione cut in, "it's impossible. I've tried it, followed the instructions exactly. It can't be done."

"It didn't work," the American witch addressed, "because you were missing the key ingredient."

"Hermione, miss an ingredient? Ceres, I think you underestimate—" Ron defended, but the woman in question cut him off, growing increasingly frustrated.

"I assure you Genavieve, I did not and **do **not forget ingredients."

The American witch merely smiled, not threatened in the least.

"Belief, and please, call me Ceres. I can show you an example, prove it to you. But first, I need you guys to make sure I'm not cheating. Tell me," she question, withdrawing her wand as she did so; 13 in, black oak, dragon heartstring core, springy, "what happens when you use your wand, not the spell itself, but the constant thing that reoccurs each time you practice magic."

She allowed them a moment to contemplate this, as it wasn't something regularly thought of. It was Harry who answered the inquisition.

"The wand grows warm."

This earned him a bright smile in acknowledgement.

"Exactly. So, Hermione," she began, handing the wand to the puzzled witch, "will monitor the temperature of my wand. If it gets hot, the magic is my own. But if it stays cold as it is now, then the power is…something else. Simple enough?"

Now all three of the 5th year Gryffindors were on the edge of their seats in anticipation.

"So," the Weasley inquired, "your going to do a spell with this 'external magic' to prove it exists?"

"Yep," was the oddly terse American's response as she closed her eyes to focus. Both hands were palms down on the seat, searching for that link, for the calm.

There was too much movement, hushed whispers of bodes, train flying over the tracks, natural objects being left behind too fast to comprehend.

_No_ she internally reprimanded herself. These were all only physical objects, they meant nothing, affected nothing, not on this plane.

There; energy, power. Immediately it rushed inside, filling her up almost instantaneously. The moment it did so, it began to fight, this power, like a wild hippogriff trapped in a cage; searching for an outlet. She gave it one without hesitation, levitating the cage containing her beloved Brigid as simply as breathing. Effortlessly.

And then there was nothing, as if some metaphysical cord had been severed. The spell had been broken. Looking up at the now open compartment door, she saw the source.

Young men, three of them. Even money said they were fellow 5th years. Better still claimed that the brutish two had been paying someone for their grades, for there was no way for them to advance otherwise. In the world she had grown up in, they would be bodyguards, perhaps bouncers at best.

Between the cavemen stood the obvious brains of the outfit; silver haired and immaculately dressed. Storm grey eyes stared back into her glowing Caribbean-sea orbs without the slightest flinch of hesitation.

"Ah, well, if it isn't the Golden Trio; Potty, mudblood, and the Weasel."

Ceres shook her head with a bemused grin; a patronizing gesture. One which the silver haired boy took none too kindly to.

"Don't call her a mudblood Malfoy," Harry defended, standing now at even height with the boy.

"Shut your ungrateful mouth Potter. You there, what are you grinning about?"

Locks the color of blood rubies cascaded back as she met his gaze, fighting back internal bursts of laughter; among things. The power unused was still locked inside her, demanding to either be returned, or directed at a new target. Either way it didn't care; it wanted out.

"Just you. I mean, no offense, but you don't think you could come up with something a little more original, Malfoy was it?"

"_Draco_ Malfoy; and you are?"

"Ceres Genavieve. Feel free to attempt a joke out of it, though I doubt you'll come up with much," she grinned at Draco's angered expression almost bursting with fury.

"Leave her alone Malfoy," Harry commanded, advancing forward in challenge to stand almost between the pair, but not quite. The shorter of the goons answered with his fist, but its intended mark was never struck. The ball of meaty flesh was diverted to another, the face of his fellow bouncer-to-be.

"Its cool Harry, I got it covered," Ceres smiled candidly.

"How the **bloody hell** did you do that?" Draco demanded, grabbing the pale American by the wrist and yanking her to her feet none-too-politely.

"Ancient technique," she spoke as the taller boy gave his fellow a bloody lip, under Ceres' compellence.

Furious, he shoved the woman back into her seat in disgust. Ron leapt from his place in response, intent on violence if not for Harry and Hermione, who successfully held the boy in check. Their non-plussed reactions gave her the impression that this wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

The wizard in question turned to make his leave, but only made it all of two steps before falling flat on his handsome face, to which Ronald roared with laughter. The cause of the "accident" had tears in her eyes.

"Real graceful there dragon."

He was on her before she could blink, so close that his breath tickled her skin as he spoke.

"Watch your tongue, Genavieve."

Grinning slyly, the witch ran her tongue over her bottom lip; a swift tease. Watching with intrigue at the twin emotions of lust and horror, she whispered,

"Never."

And then he was gone, and his body guards along with them.

"So," Ceres laughed, "What else do you guys do for fun around here?"

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_A/N~ OK, so, first off, might I say that out of all fanfiction I've written, this one has been worked on the hardest, and I hope it shows. Actually a rewrite, and there was a LOT that had to be fixed/scrapped. Already hard at work on the next chapter, reviews make me write faster, so, leave one! Hope you enjoyed!_


	2. Sorted Away

**Disclaimer:** See Ch1. Lyrics are Skillet- Energy

**Many a thanks to:** Rave, again. For pimping my story and getting me into the proper sanity to update! Without her, this chapter would have been even further delayed. Many more thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, whether its love or criticism. I appreciate all of them.

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**Behind The Crimson Door  
**Chapter 2: Sorted Away

_You're a silent rage, you're a hurricane  
You are everything I cannot see and can't explain  
You're an enigma wrapped in a mystery  
Everywhere I go, I can't escape Your energy_

The journey ended all too quickly. By the time the students had departed, the American was well-versed in the basic aspects of life at Hogwarts. In particular, the seemingly sourceless animosity between Slytherins and the adjoining three Houses of the university.

Bidding their new found friend farewell, the three Gryffindors made their way to the line of carriages. Following instructions read 541 times, Ceres Genavieve followed the booming voice bellowing:

"First years this way!"

The source of this noise must have been at least three times her size, in both height and width. Though the man was not obese in any shape or form, simply big. Gargantuan for lack of a better term. Bushy beard and matted hair almost faded away into the surrounding darkness, if not for the lantern he held. The glass cage smaller than the hand grasping it.

"Hullo there Ms. Genavieve, and welcome to Hogwarts. Glad to see yeh made it here alright," the man greeted her warmly.

She smiled back in reply.

"Thank you Professor Hagrid, its good to be here."

"Aye, we're happy to have yeh. In yeh get now," he instructed, directing her towards the group of row-boats dotting the shoreline.

In a few moments time they were moving across the lake in a sort of v-formation, grounds-keeper and Magical Creatures Professor Hagrid leading the way.

The eldest of those new students was unsurprised to find herself alone once again. No doubt the young children had heard a greatly exaggerated tale of her performance, portraying the girl in some terrifying visage.

Fortunately, the sight of her new home quickly chased away any concern for her reputation; a Patronus to the dementors of self-doubt. She had been expecting something of grandeur, perhaps a school house similar to that _Dead Poet's Society_. But a _castle_ and honest-to-Goddess **_castle_**, exceeded any expectations Ceres could possibly imagine.

_Note to self,_ Ceres concluded, _When it comes to Hogwarts, expect anything_.

Time seemed to pass at an alarming rate. Moments in an incalculable stretch of time gone by as simply as a spring day's breeze. Just as fleeting and imperceivable, time passed until Ceres Genavieve found herself in the Great Hall. There she stood amongst the eager-to-be-sorted First years.

Despite her current setting, surrounded by others in a sort of sea of pre-teen boys and girls, the young woman felt on display. As if she should strike a pose and a smile of some sort, that the flickering candles had given her a spotlight she simply wasn't aware of. The two-feet-plus height difference separating her from their level only further added to this suspicion.

Then there were those eyes. Grey orbs, the color of harsh metal, were burning a searing hole through her every second of the event (quick glances in the pureblood's direction concluded thus). They never relented, even for a moment, despite the cheers for the newest Slytherin additions. Yes, Draco Malfoy, aka dragon, did nothing to alleviate the unnerving feeling, but instead multiplied it ten fold.

Yes. Very helpful indeed.

"Genavieve, Ceres"

Said Ceres in question followed the ever-repetitive routine, internally grateful, eager to have the task over with.

"oh," the scraggy hat spoke, a tone so soft it could only hope to one day grow to a whisper. "A challenge. Yes, a first for many years. Lets see now, plenty of wit, more than enough for Ravenclaw. But cheeky, very brash. And cunning too, with an open-mind. You could play wizard-chess in here! But back to point."

The witch-to-be-sorted couldn't stifle the laugh that escaped before he continued.

"Oh, that curiosity is simply bound for trouble."

_I can handle it_

"heheh, well then, bold and and a magnet for danger. I know justwhere to put you. Off you go to -GRYFFINDOR!"

A sigh of relief was quickly engulfed by a table of enthusiastic cheers. She wasted no time in joining them, unconsciously strutting in a manner very much akin to the Slytherin Prince. Still, the two could never be alike. She was simply...to...warm.

The smile of joy immediately gave way to a laugh as a singular chant from a pair of identical ginger haired twins rose over the rest, the words:

"We got the wandless witch!"

Immediately, Ceres concluded two things at once. One; the rumors had gone around, though not _entirely_ in a negative light. Two; these had to be Ron's infamous brothers, Fred and George.

Claiming an empty seat between one of said twins and a young boy with a camera; the new-comer smiled cordially, greeting the new hands and faces that came towards her. Silver eyes still burned into her neck. She laughed, wondering if he ever blinked.

"Something funny Ceres?" Hermione asked, genuinely intrigued.

"Oh, just feel like I'm being appraised for auction by Sparkle over there."

Everyone in hearing range seemed to stop breathing and turn towards her in silent questions. Finally, someone spoke. One of the twins, most likely Fred.

"Sparkle?! Would you care to grace us Europeans with an explanation?"

"And the price for the opening bid," added his other half, tone set dead serious.

"Well," the devious female grinned, "it all started..." but the words dropped off into the dying noise of her fellows as she noticed the Headmaster standing in waiting.

"I'll explain after Dumbledor has his spotlight."

As soon as the hall grew too a mass of hushed whispers, the Headmaster spoke must have been the usual words of welcome; though odd words they were. It was to be expected, or so Ceres was told. Aside from the annual reminder of school rules, there was the arrival of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Some woman from the Ministry, shrugged off without interest.

Fortunately, it was over quickly, and the tables were soon laden with the abundant start-of-the-year feast. Though the hall was filled with food of many varieties, most of it was too..European for Ceres taste. The basics were edible, but when it came to desert...

"Come on Ceres, just try _one_ bite," the middle Weasley encouraged her.

"Hell no Ron," she laughed in outright refusal.

Steak and kidney pie, blood pudding, and how the hell on Goddess' green earth could _everyone_ here enjoy pumpkin juice?!

What Ceres Genavieve truly craved was a burger, with tater-tots, and a massive malt; extra cream. As it was, she was drinking water. So far she had managed to eat bread, turkey, and a bit of pound cake. Not exactly a feast of epic proportions, like Ron with his mashed potatoes, but it was enough for her.

"Come on, its not that bad, honest!" assured Fred, near pleading.

"sorry, I just don't trust anything with the word _kidney_ in it. No offense."

"None taken," smiled Ginny, whom Ceres had grown quite the fondness of already. "I don't eat it either."

The remainder of the meal went on without great interruption. Right up until the point where Fred and George demanded answers to their now unforgotten question. Demanded being asking kindly in their usual flirtatious manner. Something the girl in question had already grown accustomed to. Though this didn't make her enjoy it any less.

"Well...I got really bored on the boat ride over. Long ass ride really, specially when you're by your lonesome. So, I go to looking at the stars and managed to get that wretched nursery rhyme stuck in my head! Fortunately, I got it out by deciding that stars do not _twinkle_. They _sparkle_. Connected it to Draco at the sorting, during which I remembered he's named after a constellation while said 'Slytherin Prince' would not stop watching me, and voila! Hence we have this random, _rather _awkward, explanation."

Ron, whose mouthful of food was earning him looks of mild disapproval from his elder siblings, looked as if he had just been handed the Quidditch Cup.

"Oomph, I am sho definitely going to bweak that in tomorrow," he managed to ground out.

"Hey! Not till I get to him first. I need to see the initial expression of his reaction, then you can commence with your vengeful ways."

The younger Weasley shrugged, "Fair nough."

"You've got really got a kin to torture Malfoy, aye?" question an Irishman of her year, whose name she could not recall to save her soul.

"He intrigues me, like some new specimen. I want to poke him with a stick and see how he reacts. And when I say 'poke with a stick', I mean douse in buckets of glitter. Possibly pink."

The young witch's wicked idea had her surrounding housemates laughing and scheming ideas all the way back to the common room of Gryffindor Tower.

Finally, it had begun to grow late. The conclave said their farewells and departed to their separate dormitories.

The girls bedroom was gorgeous and elaborate, perfectly fitting of its settings. Aside from the entrance, two more doors stood out on either side of the extensive room. One lead to the showers, the other to the remaining beds.

"One room alone could never properly house the girls of Gryffindor," one of them explained as she unpacked what appeared to be Quidditch gear.

Moving to do to the same, the new-comer found not only uniform accessories of her now customary crimson and gold, but a letter containing further instruction.

She was to report to to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom promptly at 5:45 am sharp for her placement exams. Not a task Ceres was looking forward to, but the girl was confident she would place among the age group she belonged in; 5th year.

With her watch set to awake her dutifully at 5 o clock, the awed American climbed into the elegant four-poster bed. There she succumbed to sleep; dreaming of killer puddings, demonic horses, and a certain Slytherin showered in sparkling pink glitter.

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_A/N~ alright...this took me only forever to update! My sincerest apologies, I've been...mentally shot in horrible fashion as of late. But I'm getting better! Have started Ch3, most of its plot-outlined as well wish ensures somewhat easier writing.  
Much of this chapter you've just read has been editted, added to, and just fluffed out to a much more amazing state. This "final" draft has taken me the better part of 6 hours to get to a point where I deemed it able to post with the first. Hopefully it shows!  
Anywho, please leave me some love! I know this damn thing is worth a comment or two, so leave them! R&R is the best way to get chapter 3. Frequent hounding helps too!  
Another thing to add- The whole story is a 2nd/3rd draft. Everything and anything in regard to Ceres WILL be explained, from the weird names to why the hell she's an American. So, if it comes of Mary-Sue, I apologize. I can not explain it all in the first chapter. If I did, I wouldn't have a story.  
PS- I will be posting lyrics to start off every chapter. Cause I enjoy them._


	3. Time Flies

**Disclaimer:**See Ch 1. Lyrics used are The Chemicals Between Us by Bush

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Chapter Three: Time Flies

_I want you to surrender  
All my feelings rose today  
And I want you to remain  
The power of children can amaze  
_

Something was wrong.

She had no idea what. Just a feeling that there was something terribly, horribly off. A vacant, empty space where something out to be.

"Ceres! Ceres, come on. You have to wake up."

Oh Gods, the test! Gotta get up, grab the bag, clothes too, those usually help. And why the hell couldn't she _move_?!

Then it hit her. There was no alarm.

"S'ok," she muttered, rolling over to catch another half hour or so of rest. "No alarm yet, 'm a'right. But thanks for the concern," was her final reply. Whether or not they were coherent on any level, she knew not, nor cared any greater.

Light, bright and harsh, stung at her eyelids, seeing only red behind nye-translucent lids.

"The hell?!"

"Genavieve, its 5:45! You have _got_ to _go_!"

Shit.

Letting out a slew of unindentifiable curses, the Gryffindor flung herself out of bed. In a flurry of swares and clothing, she was dressed in her now mandatory uniform. Bag in hand, stumbling only twice, Ceres Genavieve made it out of the House and into the halls outside. Hall being an 8 by 8 landing in a mob of staircases.

It took two flights of stairs for her brain to start functioning again. 36 steps for it to realize it had no worldly idea where the "DADA" room was. At all.

Swearing, again, she cupped her hands as if to catch drops of morning rain, and muttered a long since memorized summoning spell. A familiar warm glow filled them, the color of first dawn. As it subsided, a fleck of fire-fly green light rose from its stead.

"Hey again," the girl spoke, as if they were old friends, to the tiny fleck zipping back and forth before her. "I need to find the Defense Against the Dark Arts room. Can you take me there?"

It froze a moment, the speck, perfectly still in thought, before taking off back the way she came. Careful not to race too far ahead, the tiny fey took her through corridor after corridor. Time seemed to drag, minutes passing like infiniteable hours. Fortunately, it was all an illusion, this slow passing of time. The product of stress and the usual first-day anxiety. Relief like no other descended up on her when she stopped at the door reading Defense Against The Dark Arts.

Thanking the creature for its aid, she returned the thing to whatever realm it resided in. With a slightly regained composure, Ceres slipped inside the nye-vacant classroom.

"Late, Ms. Genavieve," the pug-faced woman spoke. Her voice was chirpy and obnoxious, much like the pepto-pink robes she whore. "Not a good start for a first impression."

"Sorry, I got lost," the student spoke, tone carefully neutral as she picked a seat.

"Well, do not expect for your test time to be extended." The professor advised, setting a scroll of parchment, as well as a quill and ink, on the desk in front of her.

"You have until 7:45 to complete the exam. Answer honestly and to the best of your knowledge. Anything less, and I will know.

The moments to follow flew by in a slew of questions; multiple choice, open response, even her personal favorite: true-false. And they were easy! Something she hadn't expected, in the least. She glanced at her watch only once. It was then she discovered the problem that led to the mornings chaos.

6:21 pm.

The battery of her Fossil watch had ticked its last. It was peculiar, the power source had been purchased just one week earlier.

Quickly, the Ceres shoved the inquisition out of mind. Her thoughts always did have a tendency to wander, and now of all times was not the place for a new curiosity to fuel it.

"Yes?" the toad woman asked, addressing the young woman who stood before her.

"I'm finished."

Round eyes squinted above oval reading glasses, forming a shrewd expression for a moment or two. Stubby fingers took the placement exam in hand, taping it with the tip of her wand.

"Well, lets see how you faired. Remember, you can always try again next-"

The sentence stopped abruptly, eyes growing wider than the wire frames surrounding them. She tried again, with a slight flourish of the wrist. This couldn't bode well.

"Ah, Professor, is something wrong?"

"No," she squeaked in painful pitch. "Nothing at all. I'll be just a moment."

The 'moment' dragged on for eternity. Had she failed the test? Surely not, unless they were all trick questions? That Headmaster, Dumbledore, did seem the type for it.

Finally, she heard voices from the hallway, accompanied by the whisper of robes and the echoes of authorative footsteps on stone.

"For what you're accusing my student of, you best be correct."

The Umbridge woman had returned with backup, her Head of House."

"Good morning Professor," the new Gryffindor answered brightly, hoping to have at least one of them on her side.

"Good morning Ms. Genavieve, first day going well?"

"I'm not sure,"

Another flourish of the wand, this time by the brilliant professor of Transfiguration, quickly resolved the issue. Ceres' inferred such from McGonagall's triumphant smile.

"There you have it, 5th year level. Congratulations Ms. Genavieve, I expected nothing less. If you will follow me, I have someone you should meet."

She did, glad to leave the accusative woman behind.

It took two corridors and one flight of stairs before the Professor spoke. Each word chosen with great care.

"I have heard rumors of your incident on the train"

_Oh hell._

"Am I …being punished?"

The anxious feeling upsetting her stomach quickly resided as those oddly colored Caribbean eyes took notice of a slim smile.

"As you were not yet sorted, nor on school grounds, I believe you fell into a rather neutral area.

"But, in the future, it would be wise to limit such transgressions."

"Of course," she nodded, noticing then they had stopped before a door. Same as every other, save for one sign. A silver plaque, reading "Staff Only Beyond This Door."

"Go on Genavieve. I assure you, you will receive no punishment upon entering. There is a Professor inside waiting to meet you."

"Alright, that's good to know. See you later Professor," and without further hesitance, stepped inside.

The room, sparsely decorated in a manner much akin to a muggle teacher's lounge, was almost entirely empty. Save for one man. But a Professor? Surely not! Perhaps he was running late, and this was his assistant here to apologize for his employer's tardiness. Not to insult the wizard before her, he was just, far too young! No more than 4 years older than her, 5 at maximum.

"Good morning Ms. Genavieve. I'm Professor Wood, please, have a seat and a bite to eat. You must be starved."

Looking at the delicious array of food in front of her, she was. Hunger flared up as if reminding Ceres of its presence at the sight of toast, bacon, and _orange juice._ Gods be praised!

And it seemed to jog her memory as well. For, at the first bite of bread, she recognized his name.

"_Oliver _Wood?! You're supposed to be psychotic! And playing professional Quidditch. How'd you land this gig? What happened to Hooch?"

The young man stared in silence, for a moment or two. Obviously not the response he had expected. A troll could see that.

Yes, it was a bit brash, she admitted, but he was only a flying instructor. The girl knew that much now. Besides, how was she supposed to take him seriously with those curls?

"She retired. Simply couldn't take another year of teaching first years and dodging bludgers. And at 67, no one can blame her. Who said I was psychotic?"

"Maybe the word they were search for was 'driven'," Ceres suggested, gulping down the citrus drink to wash down her meal.

"Yea, driven mad."

Hunger gone, the American began to regain her awareness. The man was slim, athletic, build like that of a soccer player. Those curls were milk chocolate in color, just long enough to hide his ears, and avoiding his eyes by some unseen force. That hazel gaze watched her curiously. No surprise. The American 5th year transfer with a knack for summoning outside magic? Bound to the subject of much 'water-cauldron' talk.

"So, Professor," more out of reminding herself than paying respects "what'd you need to see me for?"

"Flying lessons. Who knows, maybe you'll join the ranks of Gryffindor's Quidditch team."

"How would we…I don't have to be in the first year class do I?"

Wood handed the transfer a slip of parchment. It was her schedule, sans flying class.

"You don't seem to have a free period, so I thought we could do lessons in the evening after dinner. Say, 8oclock?"

"Sure, that'll work. I've just got one question."

"Yes?"

"How the heck do you people tell time here without electronics?"

The man in question took the American outbust completely in stride, merely chuckling. He reached into the pocket of his robe for something.

"We have our ways,"

His way turned out to be a fine gold pocket watch, modeled after something that looked quite akin to a golf ball with wings.

"You can hang onto it until you get one of your own."

"Thank you, sir," and again, the addression was more of a reminder to herself, rather than a courtesy.

"You're quite welcome Ms. Genavieve."

The face inside read 8:15, she was already late. And the first class didn't look promising.

"Professor Wood, sir, do you, ah, would you mind walking me to my next class? Its just that I'm already late, as is, and I don't want to get into any trouble on the first day."

"Well, you'll find most Professors here are pretty understanding. Where are you headed?"

"Potions."

"Oh. Well, right this way then."

Apparently this man, too, knew of his…reputation. He looked young enough, perhaps he experience it firsthand. It seemed a good possibility.

"Snape harasses anyone who isn't wearing green, just so you know," he began, rounding yet another staircase down. "Its nothing personal, he just…"

"Hates everyone. Don't worry, I come well informed."

"Ah, by who?"

"Your old seeker."

"Friends with Harry already. Hate to say it, but may not be in your best interest."

"And why would you say that?"

"He's a great kid, but…he's trouble."

"How do you know I'm not trouble?"

Oliver laughed.

"I never said that."

She froze.

He was too young to be a Professor. Of any kind. This much she knew for a fact.

_Not to mention I have his watch._

"Here's your stop. Get a seat next to Granger, might get you in a spat with Severus, but she's an ace at anything magical."

"Thank you, Professor."

He smiled, a charming flash of white.

"Anytime Ms. Genavieve. See you at 8."

Far, _far_ too young.

* * *

_A/N~ Yea, this took forever to update. A funny thing called life fell in and out place, college at my soul, spat me back out, and thus I am back and better than ever (least writing wise). I'll be updating more regularly now. Hopefully. Life is unpredicatable, so I make no promises, but its pretty certain. R&R!!! I'll update regardless of my current status if feedback demands it to be so. And yes, you can demand. So go comment!_


	4. The Exact Art of Irking a Potions Master

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One. Lyrics used are The Pretender by Foo Fighters.

* * *

Chapter Four: The Exact Art of Irking the Potions Master

_Spinning infinity, boy  
The wheel is spinning me  
It's never-ending, never-ending  
Same old story  
_

"You're late, Genavieve."

She was getting rather tired of hearing that.

"Ms. Genavieve was in a meeting with me, Severus. I hope that isn't a problem for you, is it?"

The too-young professor, a regular white knight, stepped forward.

"Not. At. All." The stern figure replied, each word enunciated with its very own punctuation. "As long as it does not become a _regular habit._"

The new witch met his shrewd stare.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Professor,"

There was in fact an empty seat next to Hermione. Ceres could not imagine why, in a class of this difficulty, students would keep their distance. Apparently her personality left a little to be desired.

"As I was saying, today you will be procuring a potion you have learned in the past year. If you have learned _anything_."

Snape seemed to stare Harry down when he reiterated this, and the new-comer immediately understood Wood's warning.

"You will be graded on quality and level of difficulty. A sample will be handed in before any of you leave this classroom today. No exceptions. Begin, now."

While Slytherins and Gryffindors battled it out for control of the student supply cabinet, one such student stayed behind. From an olive canvas bag covered in patches, Ceres produced a worn hand-written text, various organic odds and ends, along with the necessary essentials. The weight of several eyes were heavy while she laid out the required ingredients, but it was a familiar feeling. Well, all but one.

That steely gaze was once again a burning presence on her mind. Ceres did not dare to face it, she refused to lose House points on her first day. But still, why _was_ he staring at her? By all tales it simply did not fit. He despised everyone too greatly to consider them anything worthy of such inspection. Unless it was a hatred 'my friends and I will hex the hell out of you' look. Could that be all it was?

She looked. A quick glance, mere shifting of the eyes in an upward motion, not long enough to be sucked into them. That was to be avoided at _all_ costs.

And the scowl, that silver-eyed glare, held no malice that she could discern. In fact, it didn't seem to hold any emotion at all. It was the examination of a cop, an investigator, that the Malfoy projected at her with unbearable force. A longing to interrogate, some question of some sort was on Draco's mind, that much Ceres was certain of. But what?

"Ceres, what exactly are you making?"

A questioning Granger, the perfect thing to keep her on task. She was internally grateful.

"A healing potion of my own creation."

"What's it called?"

The girl paused, stunned for a few long seconds before speaking again.

"Ceres Super Special Extra Awesome Healing Potion?"

Snickering from Ron momentarily brought the malicious scowl of the certainly severe Snape, but he was fortunately distracted by one of his "masterful" Slytherins.

"That's…not…the real name..is it?"

"No. I never came up with one."

The do-it-herself witch began grinding ginseng root into the simmering water, while Hermione began the decidedly disgusting task of slicing slugs.

"That…looks pretty gross."

"Its what the book says. How did you come up with that anywy?"

"Same way the guy who wrote your textbook did," she replied, rubbing dried leaves of golden seal to dust over the green froth. "Trial and error."

The muggleborn genius grew silent after that, focused on her own grade; as was Ceres. Only halfway through the lesson and she was just about finished. A pinch of mint greeted her with the color of bright navy, a clear sky at twilight. With the fire extinguished, the pleased American set about grinding the final ingredient to a fine powder; patiently waiting for it to cool. That's when he took notice, or perhaps he was just biding his time. Waiting in the wings for the perfect moment to strike. He did seem the type. Given the man's history, it wasn't that far of a stretch.

"Genavieve, what potion is this?"

"Healing Brew. Powerful stuff," she replied. Sprinkling lemon balm in one hand, stirring clockwise in the other, Ceres pretended not to notice his gaze. Those near-black eyes darting about, looking for a text-book he wasn't going to find. Unless he could see through her bag that is.

"And who created this 'healing brew'? What exactly does it do?"

She did not chance a glance towards the greasy man, but continued stirring till it shimmered, just so.

"It mends sprains, broken bones, scrapes, poisonous cuts and poison of almost any variety (well she hadn't test it on _everything_), pneumonia (her mother caught it once, she slipped it in her tea), the flu…what else…oh! And it'll work as a stick so long as you press the edges of the wound together for seven and a half minutes."

"That is all very promising Ms. Genavieve, and yet it only answers half of the question," Snape sneered, "Who created this potion?"

Defiantly, Ceres met his calculating stare. She did not flinch upon answering his full inquisition.

"I did."

His eyes seemed to widen for a moment, so minute the witch doubted anyone else had even noticed the movement.

"Would you care to provide the class with a presentation, so we may all witness its effects?"

_You bastard._

"Sure thing," was her spoken response. Unused knife in hand, she stood up; ignoring the fine tremble in her knees. Unfortunately, those silver orbs were not so easy to tune out. No matter, she could "demonstrate" and confront his visual inspection. As the nye-invisible scars on her arm showed, this was a practiced motion. The tale behind them had nothing to do with emotions and everything to do with her deadly curiosity, but that was a tale for another time.

One breath to steady the shaking had, Ceres dragged the cold steel across the warm flesh of her forearm; one smooth, harsh motion. Blood was already welling up to drip down her wrist when she put the weapon down. Unscathed arm reaching toward the brew, the American noticed the potion seemed to froth, ever slightly, with malevolent nature. Eager and earnest, as if the magic had become sentient, and was reach out itself to catch a drop. A noticeable shudder ran through the girl when pale fingers cooped out a dollop of the thick concoction, and spread it over the wound.

"Now you see it, she began, feeling the warm relief as the herbs did their chore. Wiping it away, Ceres Genavieve revealed the arm as clean as it began that day.

"And now you don't."

And those eyes, oddly teal tinted eyes, scrutinized the equally strange ones belonging to the so-called Slytherin Prince throughout the demonstration. Daring that attractive profile to show some hint of reaction. Something, anything, to clue her in on the reason behind his constant visual inquiry. She received no such tip. Just the same traceless glare, followed by a smirk as he turned back to his work. She was glad no one had raised a hand to question her work in that frame of time. Except the man of inquiry himself.

"And what is the main ingredient?" he asked, protruding nose leaning over her recipe to get a wiff of its fumes, "A bezoar, perhaps?"

"Well I like my goats too much to slit them open, so I used lemon balm instead. Less blood, and it smells prettier."

"Lemon balm. Household herbs, Ms Genavieve?"

"Yes, household herbs, sir," she spoke, calm and collected as the terrifying instructor towered over her.

"Is that a problem?"

"No. You will however be required to hand in a copy of the recipe with your sample."

"Yes, sir."

"And in the future, it would be in your best interest to stick to your text. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

He glowered one last time before returning to such festivities as belittling poor Neville. Her little 'stunt' seemed to have distracted him from Harry, for the time being at least.

The rest of class went by without interruption. Ceres did as the Professor ordered, taking a few samples for herself as well. An extra supply could always come in handy later, especially when the thought of flying lessons came to mind. Hundreds of feet in the air, suspended by a thin tree branch; she couldn't see that ending without a trip to their school nurse. Possibly a school surgeon if they had one on staff.

Though when she pulled out that glistening pocket watch to check the time, it wasn't insult to injury that came to mind. Those fears were replaced with his melt-your-socks-smile, and that irresistible accent. And suddenly broken bones became the least of her problems.

The flirtation before had to have been just an imagination, foolish girl longings she had never dealt with until now. Simple teenage hormones combined with eyes seeing only what those chemicals wanted to.

Yes, that was all, Ceres was certain of it.

For the most part.

* * *

_A/N~ Any typos and grammar failures are my fault and mine alone. This was semi-rushed, and I don't have a beta. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much I as did writing it. I've decided I will TRY to update this at least once a week. Though there are other pet projects in need up of a serious update (Under The Rose, Night Light, Moon Called, etc etc..) this one seems to come to me the easiest. Of course, this is all dependant upon YOU, my lovely readers, to R&R. So please, go forth and do so!!! And I will do my damndest to hold to my deadline.  
_


	5. A Mystery of Ink

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter 1. Song used is Mission Control by the Dandy Warhols

**Behind The Crimson Door**

Chapter Five: A Mystery of Ink

_You better not listen to yourself now anymore  
You better not trust anybody else now  
Your comment is coming, doesn't make any sense anymore_

_~*~  
_

Herbology came next, another double with Slytherin. The class was so simple however, it seemed determined to bore young Ceres to death. Repetition, that was every bit of the class. Fill pot with moist soil provided, plop poisonous plant in pot (look for the roots, they could be grabby), add more soil, water, place on shelf, turn to Hermione and do it all over again. The young witch actually flung her gloves into the pile and fled to lunch the moment they were released.

"Why don't you like Herbology?" Fred asked, passing an apple to his twin, who added "Its easy!"

"That's the problem!" Ceres Genavieve answered whilst peeling her orange, "Its too easy. Its all just mindless repetition!"

"I take it you haven't experiences Binns yet?" The very Irish wizard, Seamus, asked.

"The History of Magic Prof? No, I have him next. Why?"

"Oh, just you wait," Ron warned, taking a hefty bite out of his sandwich. There hardly seemed a moment in the Great Hall that the boy spoke without some kind of food in his mouth. "Ish a wevel ov boardum veeyon the wikes ov whish munkind fought poshable,"

"Well," the American sighed, polishing off the last of her grilled cheese "That's reassuring."

Something was causing a great uproar, students point at the ceiling, 'oohs' and 'aahs' mixed in with a good amount of 'what the hell is it doing here?'

"What is it?" the transfer asked George, who seemed to have spotted the source of unrest. The red head turned to face her with a wicked grin.

"Its for you."

Her eyes caught a glimpse of it, and then she understood. Green, brighter than any natural plant, was coming towards the table. George was right. It most certainly was for her.

"Hello Brigid," she greeted the tiny finch who stood before her, hopping toward her hand with a letter securely attached.

"Whachya got there darling? Mik writing already?" Though she couldn't conveice how such a feat would be even possible, flying overseas and such.

Ceres quickly eased the messenger of her burden, a small scroll tied with a white ribbon. With an affectionate nip the small bird returned to its nest in the owlry, leaving the girl to her letter.

She was correct in one respect, it was most certainly _not_ from her self-proclaimed Uncle in the states. Already abnormal eyes grew alarmingly wide as she read the message for her.

"Oy, Ceres, you alright? Malfoy send you a death threat or sumfin?" the Weasley Prefect asked, mouth only half-full of food so his words were at least semi-understandable.

"Oh, its not a threat," the youngest Weasley grinned, quickly snatching the parchment from the Americans grip to read it aloud to the table.

'_With a voice like silken honey_

_Ringing aloud, it carries_

_Her words, wild and untamed_

_Sparkling eyes, such mysterious lakes_

_Framed by locks of molten fire_

_To touch her would be an unknown ecstasy_

_Never captured, even in dream_

_This angel with a devils smile_

_Moving with destructive grave_

_A living flame,_

_With an angel's face.'_

Those who were within hearing range seemed too "oooh" in a cheesy fashion. But for the most part, they simply roared with laughter.

"Whose it from?" one of the twins asked, still barely recovering from his gawfahs.

"Doesn't say," she replied while inspecting the parchment, flipping it over as if forcing a clue to reveal itself.

"Well, _I_ thought it was kinda sweet," Lavender spoke up, clearly annoyed with the general reaction.

"Well," Ginny asked, handing her the poem back, "what are you going to do about it?"

"I dunno," Ceres shrugged, tucking the note safely in her bag, "go to class? There's not really much I can do is there? Besides, I've been forced to watch this movie a dozen frigging times. The gut always reveals himself eventually"

"And what are you going to do till then?" George asked, cocking a copper eyebrow in a none-too-suggestive-manner.

"Entertain a few guesses, and enjoy the flattery. "

Though in reality, Ceres Genavieve did not enjoy it. Not entirely. Those syllables of verse struck fear, pure and absolute, right down to her core. For when her eyes met the poem, only one guess came to mind; one man. And he had a Scottish accent.

Common sense did not return to the aspiring witch until she sat down in the surrounding classroom. '_The admirer could be __anyone.'_Jumping to such a rapid conclusion was illogical and childish. Any idiot muggle could see that.

Class was starting. Ceres sat up straight, note taking supplies in hand and at the ready.

The twins were right. They were never used. She wasn't quite sure how it happened. One moment the girl was intently to the spirit's lecture on the fall of the Chaos Lords in 1530. The next, she was listing off possible 'suspects'. How embarrassing!

Though, as she found out at dismissal, it could have been much worse. Over three-quarters of the class had fallen dead asleep, finally awaking from the sounds of hustle and bustle. At least she had _attempted_ to learn, that had to be worth some kind of class credit, right?

Ceres Genavieve followed the boys she had come to know up the seemingly endless stairs to Divination. Hermione had dropped the class for Arithmancy years ago. The American witch wasn't fond if numbers; she couldn't charm an equation into anything of interest.

This class, too, seemed to be less than exciting. Their assignment was to use their dream dictionaries to "decode our subconscious travels and see what future awaits you!"

The only upside so far had been her partner, a shy brunette Gryffindor named Amy Costovo. Well, shy at first.

"So, um, have any weird dreams lately?" she asked.

"Is there really such a thing as a non-weird dream?"

The seasoned student couldn't help but laugh.

"Good point."

"So…dreams. Um, there was this one last week. It involved purple flying seahorses."

Book in hand, Amy thumbed for the necessary page.

"Purple can mean 'power in high places, self assurance, and-"

"The Third Eye!" Professor Trewlaney announced with cliché dramaticism, like some out of a side-show at the fair.

"What else child?" the seer demanded, like a wide-eyed crow demanding scraps.

"Um…seahorses?"

"Seahorses?! Oh dead, oh dear."

"What, what is it?"

"Poor child, I'm afraid your love life will be as dry and lifeless as the desert sands!"

Ceres Genavieve had to work very hard to battle the smile off her face. Glancing over at Ron and Harry's snickering only made it that much worse.

"I'll…try and cope with that."

"Good luck ill fated child. You will need all of it you can get I'm afrad."

Not only was the American able to contain her laughter till the end of class, but she even managed to find a new friend out of the trouble Professor Wood forewarned. Amy Costovo lent her the notes from History of Magic, promised to be returned at breakfast tomorrow.

Dinner flew by all too quick in a flurry of laughs, shouting, and stuffed faces. Before she knew it Ceres was standing on the pitch (she had spotted it on the way to Herbology that morning) awaiting her very first flying lesson. She had barely enough time to run upstairs and change into jeans on the way, flying on a broom in a skirt was a definite no-no.

"Good evening Ms. Genavieve. First day going well?"

"Not bad. Kinda nerve wracking and boring as hell."

"Boring? At Hogwart?"

The student relayed the days' events while Professor Wood opened a large trunk. Only enough, he listened keenly.

"Sorry to hear about your love life."

"Eh, I don't put much stock in dreams, specially ones involving purple flying seahorses."

He chuckled.

"Sounds like good philosophy."

"Yea, I thought so. 'Lets dictate our future through senseless chemical firings of our brains' just didn't seem like a bright idea."

"Well, what do you think your future holds then?" he, the _Professor_, inquired, kind eyes meeting her own.

"I don't know. Guess I'll just have to wait and see,"

"Seems so."

And there it went, again; that moment. Once again it froze all resolve, rooting the young witch firmly to the spot. With great determination, she dislodged the feeling; the warm connection.

"So, whats in the box Professor?"

"This," Oliver spoke, glancing up at her with that heart-warming smile, "is the first part of tonight's lesson."

Professor Wood proceeded then to explain to his eldest student the rules of Quidditch, the contents of the small trunk, and their role in the game. Ceres hung onto every word, determined to focus on the lesson itself; not the man teaching it.

"Alright, now that we have that out of the way, lets get you off the ground."

The educator was the only one of the two eager for it, in any way.

"Stand to the left of the broom, yes there you go. And with your right hand above the handle say 'up'."

The young student took a deep breath, and did as he asked. To Oliver's surprise, and none of hers, the broom did nothing short of turning over an inch.

"Maybe I'm not 'Quidditch' material."

"Nonsense, anyone can do it. You're just not focusing your intent is all. That, and its not a new broom, they require some coaxing. Go on, give it another go."

And she did. With little result.

He was studying her now, like a chemistry experiment gone wrong, trying to find the missing ingredient.

"Whats on your mind?"

It was an odd question from a teacher, though he was full of those it seemed.

"A whole heck of a lot of 'how the hell do you stay suspended on a 3 inch hunk of wood hundreds of feet in the air, mixed with the hope that this place has some kind of hospital tucked away in a dungeon or something."

"Ah, so you're afraid to fly."

"No, I don't mind planes."

"Well whats the difference between some tin bird and a broom?"

"One of them has parachutes."

* * *

_A/N~ So I'm not very happy with this chapter. Much of it seemed unneccesary, but I thought what the hell, I'll post it anyway and see what the readers have to say. And not to fret, more Draconess in Chapter Six, promise. So go R&R and make me writer faster! _


	6. An Escort of Sorts

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One. Song used is Conditional by Burden Brothers.

**Mucho Grande Love To-** _**Rave**_ aka **Your Shadow Light**. Her help with this chapter and the previous everything is invaluable; as in priceless. I do not want to imagine how my writing would turn out without her, she's simply amazing. This writer also has her own wonderful Draco/OC fic called **Burning The Shadows**. If you're not reading it, you should be. I honestly think its better than this one! Thank you again darling, never stop inspiring me!!!

* * *

* * *

**Behind The Crimson Door**  
Chapter Six: An Escort of Sorts

_I won't pretend that I know you, but I wish just one time  
I could get inside your head  
All the treasures that you're hiding  
All your secrets never safe  
Are adding up to lines of frustration  
I read it on your face_

The remainder of the lesson was the most difficult yet for either wizard. Ceres still could not make the broom move more than a few inches, and Professor Wood's encouragement did little to help.

"This must be a first," the girl muttered, following Oliver to the broom shed. She figured the least she could do was help pick up. He faced her with an odd expression that the young Genavieve couldn't discern, though she had a good idea.

"What is?"

No, scratch that, it wasn't good at all. Accurate, but far from good.

"A witch that can't fly. Maybe I could get a black cat and learn to cackle."

Checking that the lock was secure, he turned to address his student with kind eyes and a soft smile. The combination made Ceres' heart jump into up-tempo, and she despised the treacherous organ for it.

"Hey, I bet Hooch has had a few herself. From what Harry's told me Hermione could barely get hers to move her first time either."

"Really? But, she's brilliant!"

The man shrugged as they walked the length of the pitch, in no hurry either.

"Everyone has their talents, and their weaknesses. I'm certain however that your fear is the only thing holding you back. Before you go to bed tonight I want you to try and pick up apart just exactly what it is about flying that frightens you."

"Ok, if you think it'll help."

He smiled, and this time it was that full-blown heart-wrenching display of white.

"I do. And don't you dare think for a moment this makes you any less of a witch," he added, tone becoming dead serious, "I've heard the things you can do and you're nothing short of magical. Don't let anyone make you think otherwise."

Relief did not come close to describe how the young witch felt when they finally reached those double doors.

"Alright, um, thanks Professor. I'll see you Wednesday."

"If you like I could see you up to the tower, hate for you to get in trouble with Filch. Or Umbridge, for the matter."

_Oh Goddess no!_

"That's alright, I don't want to put you through any more misery then I have to. How about you write me a note and we'll call it even?"

"Alright, it is getting late. Though," he added, smiling as he looked up from scribbling something akin to a hall pass on a spare bit of parchment "I don't think I'll be getting any misery from you,"

She couldn't help the laughter that escaped.

"Oh you say that now, just wait. This time in forty eight hours I'll either be yelling at a hunk of wood, or being carried to the Hogwarts version of the ER with four broken bones. And stitches. Lots of stitches."

The Professor placed the note in his students hand, before taking said limb firmly in his warm grasp.

"I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, I can promise you that."

She could feel her eyes grow wide as shock and 'holy-shit-proof!' illustrated themselves clearly on Ceres' face. Oliver must have noticed, for he let go of her hand.

"Well, what kind of Professor would I be if I let my students get hurt?"

With a smile to hide the evidence, she tucked the note in her back pocket and bid the older man good night.

_Too old and not old enough. This sounds like something from the Nightly News back home. Apparently its not just an American thing._

"Oy! You there! Show yourself."

The witch was so utterly lost in her own thoughts that she didn't even hear the whisper of robes, the obvious scuff of expensive footwear. Pity, only a few weeks and she was already getting out of practice. Expecting to see Ron or perhaps one of the Ravenclaws, Ceres was more than a little surprised to see none other than the Slytherin Prince himself at the opposite end of the 6th floor 3rd corridor hallway.

"What are you doing out of bed?" he demanded, strutting towards in that usual 'rich-and-purer-than-thou' manner.

"I could ask you the same question, Malfoy."

"_I _ am a _prefect_. You, on the other hand, are out of bed after hours. I think 5 points is in order—"

"Hey wait a minute you little bastard I have a note from Professor Wood!" she proudly exclaimed, brandishing it from her pocket like some kind of flag of truce. The self-proclaimed Prince of Slytherin snatched from her grip, slicing a well-sized paper cut into her forefinger. She promptly shoved it in her mouth to staunch the bleeding while he read.

"Flying Lessons?"

"Yes," she replied, snatching it back with equal force, though she didn't elicit the pain she wanted to do.

_Ignorant bastard_.

"Flying lessons. I don't have any free time during the day, so I take them at night with Professor Wood. Is that a problem? You going to make a clever retort how that somehow makes me a lesser being than you or can I go to bed now?"

"That depends, you going to tell me how I'm nothing but a Death Eater like my father?"

Ceres didn't know too much about the boy's family, other than what the 'Golden Trio' had told her. If they weren't rumors, then that little bit was bad enough. Still, the reply through her through a loop, and she was sick and tired of leaping through them.

"Why the hell would I say that? You're not your father. You're quite a lot of fairly obnoxious things, but you're definitely not him. I don't think your heads that far up your ass quite yet. Maybe in due time."

_Not yet anyway._

Tired of the days head-games, Ceres Genavieve turned to go to bed for some peace and quiet. Draco Malfoy would have none of it.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?!"

She whipped around, all a fury, for the first time glaring daggers into the young man's silver eyes. The torches actually flickered with the movement as if some kind of breeze had entered the hall.

"To bed! I'm sick and tired of the days mind games and for once I'm really starting to wish my frigging head would stop questioning every little fucking thing because now its just frigging overwhelming!"

His visage gave way to something…most peculiar. It looked like he had actually been slapped, as if some invisible hand had given him quite a number, and he now stood before the young witch in some form of…awe perhaps? She couldn't be sure, and wished she could be more awake to figure it out.

"Look, I'm sorry--"

"What are you apologizing to _me_ for?"

"For snapping at you. You didn't do anything to deserve that. Look, I'm just really frigging tired, and I still have a ton of homework to do. So if you don't mind Sir Prefect may I go to bed?"

"Yea, sure. But I'm seeing you to your dorm. Make sure you're not wandering the halls after hours."

"Fine, whatever."

The walked for a few minutes in silence before the wizard spoke again.

"You really don't care that my father's a Death Eater in close league with Voldemort?"

A crimson eyebrow cocked in the wizards direction while she thought out her reply for a second.

"My Dad, wherever the fuck he is, is a homophobic bible-thumping bastard, who might just be even more ignorant than you. I prefer to judge people on their actions, rather than their family tree. So no, I couldn't give two shits who your father is, and old Voldy can shove it. I really don't see what all the fuss is about. All you have to is snap his stupid wand in half and he's powerless."

Then something really, _really_ weird happened. Stranger than a giant squid in a lake. Draco Malfoy, so called Slytherin Prince (among things), laughed. At a Gryffindor.

"I doubt it would be that simple, or he wouldn't have come back."

"I dunno Draco, you guys can't even a work a toaster."

"Whats a toaster?"

"It's a simple device that makes your bread nice and crispy. Cept that it lies, stupid turny knobs are never right. Anyway! If you can figure out the right setting you can yummy toast with strawberry spread."

"You mean jam."

"Yea, that. Same difference."

Silence again, the boy was looking at something on the ground.

"What, what is it? There a cockroach or something?"

"No, you're bleeding."

The cut, she had completely forgotten! Like all wounds of the paper variety it was bleeding far too much for something so small. A nice heavy drop fell to floor, meeting a few other specks that were already present on the cold stone. She shoved it in her mouth again.

"Sorry, I'll try not to get any on you," Ceres snapped a little, sucking on the wound as if willing it to stop its crimson nuisance. She almost bit the appendage when she heard it, some kind of scuffling. Coupled with an awful smell. Her wand was in her bleeding hand before she knew how it got there.

"What? Its probably just Mrs. Norris. C'mon, lets get moving."

Of course! What else could it be? This was a frigging magical castle for Hecate's sake. It must have had more security measures then a maximum security prison.

So why was her hair standing on end?

~*~

The door rapped once, only once, before the cold voice silenced it with permission to enter. The dark sorcerer fell on one knee immediately, the necessary sign of servitude and respect for his master.

"Rise, Riddle,"

"You called for me my Lord?"

"Yes. How is your agent progressing?"

"He has kept a constant watch on your target. His findings indicate that she indeed holds previous ties to the Dark Arts."

"Excellent. And the other?"

"We are seeing to him as fit. My word, Master, he will not interfere."

"What of my test?"

"It has already been set into motion as per your orders. I believe by this time tomorrow night we should have a good indicator of the potential."

"Excellent. You are a reliable gentleman Riddle, such good help is hard to find. Do not disappoint me, and perhaps I will take care of that pesky thorn for you."

"It would be an honor, Master,"

"Of course it would! Dismissed."

~*~

The flow of blood had finally ceased when they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. Ceres tried to think of the most unawkward way to say good bye.

"Thanks for the escort I guess, however unnecessary."

"I'm just doing my duties. Don't take it personally."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Night Draco."

He looked up at her then, and it was strange, seeing that face completely smirkless, sneerless, and void of all grimace. As if his expression was somehow naked before her. The young Gryffindor knew there was something she should be seeing right now, but for the life of her she could not figure out what that something was. It took her a moment to realize he was giving her the same intense examination, trying to pick up on facial cues she hoped were not there.

"Goodnight, Ceres."

Genavieve immediately fled into the sanctity of her common room before it could get any worse. For the first time in her life she realized the need to keep her curiosity in check, if not to some extent. Perhaps contain it to the classroom setting, where it would at least benefit her grades. Yes, that sounded like an excellent idea. She would put it to the test with the mountain of homework waiting for her.

Funnel the need-to-question into a useful educational manner. It sounded so easy.

The effort would be anything but.

* * *

_A/N~ So I've actually been suffering a nasty ear infection for the past week; the constant ringing and cringing pain thus distracting me from work. Doctors appointment earlier today helped, feeling loads better though I have to go on a shit-ton of anti-bacterial medicine. Reviews speed my recovery time, I swear, House mentioned it one time! Seriously, R&R for more shenanigans. I WANT YOUR OPINIONS!!!! Positive or otherwise._


	7. One Angry Sparkle

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One. Lyrics used are You're So God Damn Beautiful by Burden Brothers

* * *

**Behind The Crimson Door**

Chapter Seven: One Angry Sparkle

_Look at me now, I'm a wreck  
I'm down on my knees  
Everyone knows..  
You're so god damn beautiful  
Yes you are  
You're so god damn beautiful_

Ceres Genavieve all but collapsed when the concealed door closed behind her. Finally she was safe from the beyond-not-old-enough Flying Instructor, and the impossible Malfoy. _What_ was his intention anyway? Then it came to her, that naked expression, had been seen earlier that day in Potions class! Again, it was that mien of want, want to question something, but what on Goddess's green earth was it?!

Like an iron gate slamming into place, the American stopped the thought in its tracks. Work, there was work to do.

"Frigging sparkle"

"Oy Ceres, Malfoy giving you a hard time?"

The red-headed twins were experimenting in the common room. It seemed the Weasley Wizard Wheezes were hard at work.

"No, I'm fine. It's nothing I can't handle. Mind if I get some work done in here?"

The two shared a look, and the witch knew it couldn't mean anything good.

"Not at all gorgeous, we're heading out anyway."

"Yea, product testing; much too dangerous to do it in here."

"Mmhm, we'll have to conduct our business else where."

She was already spreading out her books when they were packing whatever the experiment was.

"Just don't get caught," Ceres hissed as they climbed out the portrait hole.

The two grinned before simultaneously replying-

"Wouldn't dream of it."

~*~

The young witch was still on the couch the following morning. Hands covered in ink, she awoke to a yelling Gryffindor; Amy this time, and hoped it wouldn't become a habit.

"C'mon, you better get a move one before Katie and Lavender get the last of the hot water. What's that all over your hands?"

"Ink. Stupid quills. Honestly, as cool as it is to write magical essays on parchment, I'd kinda kill for a notebook and pen."

"What's a pen?"

The American shook her head in dismay.

"Never mind."

In a flurry of washing and drying Ceres was out the door, hot on the heels of the youngest Weasley, Ms. Costova, and Hermione Granger.

"You really couldn't move the broom?"

"No," the proud muggle-born laughed. "It took me three lessons to get it up. Don't worry," she smiled as they burst into the Great Hall, "you'll get there eventually."

It was beyond comforting to here the story from the super-witch herself. Ceres ate her breakfast with a relaxed air of calm.

Until _he_ walked in. And the sight caused the young witch to nearly gag on her toast.

Draco Malfoy had charged into the dining hall, striding with fury, covered from head to toe in hot pink glitter. It was as if he had lost a battle with a muggle prom dress, and then received no less than a hundred lap dances from a sleazy gentleman's club that was anything but.

And Ceres couldn't help herself, she laughed right along with the every other student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Even a few of the Professors were hiding grins. This Gryffindor stopped abruptly, however, when she averted her gaze from the Flying Instructor to find those steel orbs set on her in a deadly glare powerful enough to stop a dementor in its tracks. Perhaps even frighten the squid into the deepest depths of the lake. The young girl couldn't believe her tremoring heartbeat, but at that moment she was absolutely terrified of Draco Malfoy. The sheer possibilities of what the pure blood could do to her were nearly endless.

She looked away, and a beaming Fred and George instantly caught her eye. There was no need to ask them, it was beyond obvious they were behind this mornings comic relief. However, it was not so obvious to the victim at hand, as Ginny Weasley quickly caught notice of.

"Ceres, you didn't-"

"Gods no! I'm erratic, but not suicidal. Your brothers have once again outdone themselves."

Despite the security that was safety in numbers, the American chose to slink off before the "three minute rush" began. Her plan was so to simply hunker down in the girls' lavatory, and wait till the halls were empty before heading to Defense Against the Dark Arts. The average deduction for tardiness was probably around five points. She could deal with the mild loss to avoid the unleashed fury of Draco Malfoy; just this once.

Of course, it couldn't go that easy, oh no. She had just rounded the corner to the one of only three bathrooms she knew of when there he was; a solid immovable force of fury. And this time, he had come alone. No flunkies meant no witnesses, no one to bully, no one to stop him from going too far. Ceres Genavieve had never been so terrified of so much glitter in all her short life.

"Hi Draco, trying to wash up before class, you mind?"

He drew his wand, a less than good sign.

"Do I _mind_? Being publicly humiliated by a _filthy, treacherous, __**mudblood**_ before the entire school? Yes, Genavieve. I. _Mind._"

_Gulp._

"Oh, is that what the death glare was all about? Look, I didn't have a damn thing to do with that. This," she gestured to his sparkling state, "is the work of the twins, and I don't mean Patil."

That seemed to change things, soften the Malfoy a little. He lowered his wand, but did not put it away.

"And you didn't ask them to?"

"Why the _fuck_ would I do that?! Honestly, do I _look_ suicidal to you?"

Silence and a despondent stare wad her only answer. The Gryffindor stared back, and that's when she saw it. Fear, as always, had tripped the trigger. Ceres was curious, how the twins had used such a simply spell to create such an interesting hex. Without thinking, she raised her empty hands to mirror his form. The Slytherin immediately stepped back, wand at the ready once again.

"Would you just come here and hold still?"

"What are you playing at?"

_God damnit he's suspicious of everything._

"I'm going to get that crap off you. Unless you enjoy looking like a pink version of Edward Cullen."

"Edward who?"

"Nevermind. Either trust me to help you or find someone else to bully. I really don't care either way."

He put away his wand, finally, and stepped forward.

"Now don't move," the witch ordered, trying to focus.

"What are you-"

"And shut up."

He did.

It took only a moment, and there it was, with an audible pop Ceres could see everything. The halls practically oozed with magic, glowing a brilliant phosphorescent that was practically blinding. The boy himself was red tinged with black, much like her own aura. A few dark smears from foolish experimenting, what an interesting coincidence, but it wasn't her target. That was the grey smudging of neutral spell work, tinging the entire essence like a coating of metaphysical dust.

After a moments study she simply grasped his arms, and with the word "Disincantra," the offending magenta splendor felt to the cold stone floor in a thin circle.

He looked at her for a moment, and something new was in those eyes. Lost staring into them, trying to figure out what, she forgot her hands were still on him.

"Sorry," she muttered, turning away to go back to the Great Hall. Get to class. Something. Anything. Anywhere but here. Ceres was fond of the warmth radiating beneath his robes that had found its way into her hands. Were her hormones this rampant, that they would simply just latch onto anything remotely male within reach? The curses of being a teenager, nothing more than that.

"No, thank you. You didn't have to, you know."

"Yea I did. The last thing I need in this school is the head badass hunting me down day and night."

"That's it?"

The boy was beginning to grate on her nerves.

"Of course, Draco, what more could it be?"

He was gone in the few seconds of silence it took for her to turn back. Dismissing the Slytherin's mood-swings as best she could, the girl checked the pocket watch. Already late, she sprinted off to the room she had been first tested in, praying she wouldn't once again get on the Professor's bad side.

"Late, Ms Genavieve."

_I swear if I hear that one more fucking time…_

"I'm sorry Professor I was-"

"She was helping me catch this mornings culprit, unwillingly might I add,"

"Oh!" her voice instantly perked up into that ear-cringing squeak, "Good morning Draco. Have a seat both of you."

_Great, another double with Slytherin._

"Open your books to page 10 and read the following chapter. There will be a quiz next class on its contents."

The American had every intention of taking notes, honestly, it just somehow didn't manage to pan out that way. Instead of Theories of Practical Defense, the words on her parchment were:

"Why did he help me?"

_He's just trying to repay you for lifting the hex. Now he doesn't owe you any favors. Done deal._

"Are you sure?"

_Well what else could it be?_

She immediately scratched out the two offenders and began scribbling down the utter nonsense of the text. Decidedly not questioning it, having skirted enough trouble today, Ceres mindlessly summarized the pages before her until dismissed.

"That lesson was a load of rubbish," Hermione exclaimed as they jogged the distance to Transfiguration.

"Dad warned me about her," Ron began as they flew into nearly filled classroom, the hawk-like eyes of Professor McGonagall descended on the four. "I'll tell you about it later."

Double Transfiguration was so far Ceres favorite class. It was difficult, requiring actual thought and focus. The spellwork seemed to combine visualization, pronunciation, and wand movement. Once she figured this out, the budding student quickly turned the cockatoo into the appropriate cocktail dress, mere seconds before the famed Hermione Granger.

"Well done Ms. Genavieve. 5 points to Gryffindor for that splendid bit of spell work. I take it you picked this interesting shade of pink?" the Head of House asked, gesturing to the too-bright magenta.

"Yea, I thought all cocktail dresses were kinda cheesy, so it just kinda looked that way in my head."

A few students laughed, Minerva McGonagall smiled thinly.

"Interesting, well done again Ms. Genavieve. I'll expect high marks from you."

_Hopefully I can meet those expectations._

Charms was more of the same, with a few exceptions. Professor Flitwick's stare was much more curious. As Ceres silenced the toad in only a few attempts the small man looked as if he would pull out a magnifying glass larger than himself and begin inspecting her on a slide. The mental image made her cringe, but it did earn another 5 points for Gryffindor. Things were shaping up from this morning's comical nightmare.

Finally lunch came around, Ceres sat next to Amy and griped about Umbridge for a moment or two before Ron finally budged.

"Alright you, spill. What do you know about Toad Face?"

"Well Dad told me over the summer that Fudge is completely bonkers over Dumbledore and the return of You-Know-Who. Thinks he's out to steal his job, and that all of this stuff about You-Know-Who is a load of rubbish. En if you haven't noticed, most of the school thinks it too."

"Stupid gits the lot of them," Amy muttered over her pumpkin juice. The action made Harry smile a bit, which was always a kind and rare sight to see these days.

"Alright, so Fudge is frigging paranoid delusional, whats it got to do with Umbridge?"

"Umbridge is here as, basically, a Ministry spy," Hermione explained in a low whisper of a hiss, "Fudge thinks that Dumbledore is turning the students of Hogwarts into his own private army. So by taking up the Defense Against the Dark Arts position with that useless text-book of hers, they plan to prevent that from happening."

"So let me get this straight," the American began, trying to keep her normally outspoken voice unheard by the general population, "the Ministry is going to stop us all from learning any useful magic, so that whenever Voldemort," she ignored the cringe from the Weasleys and went on, "we'll be well and truly fucked."

Ginny nodded grimly; "Looks like,"

"Awesome."

Suddenly a romantic poem from an unknown sender didn't seem so important anymore.

"What happened with you and Malfoy anyway?" Harry asked, blatantly curious of the other mans intentions. "He beat you up to un-hex him or something?"

"No, nothing like that. Just the usual threat. Really, he's more bark than his bite, I just didn't want him annoying me anymore than he already does."

Ginny laughed.

"Do you think that's possible?"

Ceres shook her head in dismay, staring blankly at the grilled cheese before her. She wasn't really hungry anymore.

"Goddess only knows,"

_Though I wish she'd drop me a hint, just this once._

_

* * *

A/N~ Ello my lovelies! Sorry for the not-too-expedient update. Been so hectic that past two weeks this the first day I've had more than 10 minutes of alloted time on my lapper. Hope this was worth the wait. R&R for a faster update!!!!! 3 _


	8. A Deadly Encounter

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One. Song used is Over My Head by the Fray.

**Behind The Crimson Door**  
Chapter Eight: A Deadly Encounter

_Let's rearrange  
I wish you were a stranger I could disengage__  
Just say that we agree and then never change__  
Without a sound we lose sight of the ground__  
In the throw around  
Never thought that you wanted to bring it down  
I won't let it go down till we torch it ourselves_

~*~

_

* * *

_

Damp and muddy grass was tromped underfoot on the way to the final class of the day, Care of Magical Creatures. On the way they passed Professor Woods final Flying Lesson of the day. He waved kindly in Genavieve's direction, to which she blushed and sort of half-waved back, laughing as a poor first year was smacked in the face by his broom. Quickly, the distracted Instructor scrambled back to work. Did he wave to all of his students? Certainly not. Yet more proof she longed to ignore and was helpless to do anything but.

Professor Grubby-Plank was kind and knowledgeable enough. Today's lessons consisted of spotting Bowtruckles, deceptively innocent creatures who inhabited wand-wood trees such as Ash and Yew. They were perfectly docile enough, until one tried to actually harvest the wood. Ceres Genavieve instantly pitied whomsoever worked for Ollivander on such a task. Apparently it was like stealing a dogs prized squeaky toy; distract with favorite food and run like hell. Unless you liked having your eyes gouged out, then by all means proceed merrily about.

Letting Amy take the task of handling the literal stick man, Ceres proceeded to sketch, copying most of the body parts from Ms. Costova, who had lived near such creature's since she was a child, and had quite a few stories.

"I remember one time, I was about five years old, and decided if I could climb the tree in the backyard and hop on my toy broom from their I could fly higher than the thing was supposed to. Turned out to be a Cherry tree bursting with bowtruckles, I had scratches all over my arms and legs for weeks,"

The American was fighting to pay attention, almost labeling the bowtruckles head as Suspect #1, but managed to catch it at the S.

Coupled with a sudden loss of appetite, Ceres chose to forgo dinner for a studying session in the Library. With a quiet nook in the far back all to herself, she resumed her studies, determined to finish Snape's Essay that was left half-finished the night before. Once finished she moved on to Professor Wood's assignment: Reasons I'm Terrified of Flying.

~Falling thousands of feet sans parachute

~ Being suspended by a three inch thick hunk of wood really just doesn't sound that secure

~ The whole possible death thing really doesn't sound too fun either

~ Not being able to control it and maybe flying into the Whomping Willow

~ Being caught by the Professor and having a rampaging attack of hormones which could lead to-

She scratched out the last till it was completely illegible, muttering something about wanting a "damned ink eraser," Certainly someone had to have come up with a spell for one. Ceres made a note to ask Hermione about it later in her Day Planner, which she happily wrote in with a pen, crossing off another complete assignment.

Next up- Divination dream journal, ie what bit of fiction could she fill the next slot with. Something about running through the hallways of a forgotten place, lost and confused, and under pursuit by _something_. The same feeling she had last night, being watched, running into Draco…Then she wasn't writing anymore. Ms. Genavieve was no longer recording dreams, but producing more, unconscious to the world atop her Dream Oracle. The poem of yesterday tucked securely in its pages.

Darkness, that's what Ceres Genavieve awoke to in the far reaches of the Hogwarts library. Pitch blackness illuminated only by the palest light of her, scratch that, her _Flying Instructor's_ pocket watch. Which read 10:38. Shit. All students were to be in their common rooms by 8. Double shit. And unless she was still dreaming those were footsteps in the hallway. Triple fucking shit.

Quick as a Niffler the young witch packed her things into the patched canvas bag, taking care to bottle the ink and roll the parchment with ease. With a simple lumos she charted her way through the stacks and out the door, checking the hall twice before skittering out.

With the source of the footfalls seemingly gone, our young protagonist sprinted up the stairs with wild abandon. She wasn't quite sure where she was going, but figured since they were of course in a _tower_, the Gryffindor was at least headed in the right direction.

Six flights of stairs and a dozen wrong turns later, Ceres Genavieve realized she still had no idea where on earth she was going. Or where the young witch had currently managed to end up for that matter. Cursing, she quickly cast the locating spell once again, offering a bit of sugar from her bag to the firefly green light.

"Sorry for calling you again so soon, but it's kind of an emergency," she attempted to explain. It didn't seem to mind, flitting over to her outstretched hand only to make the sweet pacifier disappear in a few moments. "I need to get to bed you see, before I get caught after hours. Can you help me?"

It bounced there, for a moment or two, as if in some state of heavy contemplation, before taking off back the hall from which she had come. Blindly and without fail she followed, up and around, through a strange passage or ten, and finally right into a Slytherin Prefect.

"Jeeze Draco, you taking to stalking me now?"

"I could ask you the very same question. What brings you out of bed at this late hour Genavieve?"

"If you _must_ know I fell asleep in the library, way back in the stacks. Woke up not too long ago, just trying to find my way to bed now. Satisfied?"

"Not in the least," he muttered, low enough that the girl knew she wasn't supposed to hear it. "Come on then, after you."

"Excuse me?"

"You can either let me escort you to your dorm so that I may do my job in keeping pesky students like you in line, or I can take away all those lovely little points you've been earning for Gryffindor today. Your choice."

Ceres rolled her warm-water-blue eyes in general distaste, there was simply no getting rid of him. Though if she were forced into honesty, the American didn't mind it all that much. Maybe it was the late hour, or the risk of being caught, but something about this night was causing her hair to stand on end. Shaking her head, she ignored the gooseflesh and looked to her guiding light. It hovered there in waiting.

"Lead the way."

They moved in silence, the pureblood eyeing the summoned fae as if it were some dangerous jungle cat ready to pounce at any given moment. The longer she watched him the young witch became reminded of the incident this morning. Involving the sparkles.

"So no lessons with Professor Wood this evening then?"

And that touch. The warmth the came through, into her. And he was handsome, everyone knew this no matter what house they were in. And the question, don't forget to answer that.

"No," she answered without thinking, "I only have those every other night of the week. Need time for homework and such."

Then it came back to her as she looked into those stone cold eyes.

"Why do you care about the schedule of my flying lessons?"

It was Draco's turn to be under the investigative stare she was so constantly a victim of. And she showed him no mercy, the girl wanted answers. There was truly no logical explanation for the Slytherin Prince to inquire as to her schedule of late night flying lessons. It took him much longer than it should have to answer the question. And this bothered her greatly.

"I was…just…trying to make conversation."

Ceres had to fight everything she knew not to laugh aloud at his feeble response. Honestly, wasn't cunning a Slytherin quality? And Draco was cunning, quite. She had heard the tales and knew the stories. What on Goddess's green earth was the reason for this sudden lapse in logical thinking?!

"You want to 'make conversation' with an American muggle-born whose been sorted into Gryffindor?"

_Crash!_

"Oy! Whose out there? I am a prefect and you will answer me!"

That stench rose in the air again, and the muggle born knew it was no cat. The only answering sound was a clicking, dragging noise. Cere's began digging into her bag, searching, praying she had given into her paranoia and thrown it the canvas tote anyway. The noise was getting closer. All thoughts regarding the intentions of one Draco Malfoy were forgotten entirely. She up-ended the bag on the floor.

"Genavieve, what are you doing?"

There! She snatched the item into her dominant hand, flicking the blade into place. It wasn't huge, but six inches should be sufficient enough.

"Arming myself."

"Why?"

"Because whatever's down there doesn't speak English," she replied, gagging on the last vowel as the odor grew too strong. Rotten eggs, sulfur. Finally it revealed itself, stepping into the pool of golden light emerging from Draco's wand. It was tall and spindly, skin a sickening shade of putice green, and florescent yellow eyes. A small mouth full of needle sharp teeth oozed the same poison contained in its four razor sharp claws on each limb.

The Slytherin was in front of her before the thing could take another step, determined it seemed to protect the young witch from this creature. Wand raised, he shouted a jinx, while at the same time Ceres screamed for him to stop.

The spell collided with the demon only to rebound into its caster, knocking Draco into the wall behind him with a sickening crack. Ceres Genavieve cringed at sound, but could not turn around. One moments distraction would be enough to cause her undoing. Killer monsters first, aid friend (friend?) later. Magic was useless against the demon. The thing wasted no time on the boy, and quickly turned on the American witch. One would expect the girl to be terrified, at least nervous or timid. But Ceres Genavieve was neither. She was calm, cautious, almost expectant even; she had been through this before.

The thing came at her, and she quickly dodged its attack, ducking down and immediately lashing out with the knife. The blade barely nicked the torso before it swung back, knocking her weapon askew to skitter off out of sight. Where had it gone? She needed the knife, she was dead without it! There, too close to grab though, too risky. The young woman would be dead for it. Dodging another blow by only a few centimeters, she saw what the thing had crashed into before; a suit of armor. The witch ran for it.

It followed of course, almost gaining on her, but its bottom claws were slipping on the cold stone floor. With both arms she pulled the sword from metal plates and swung back. The blade sank deep into the demons flesh, but the movement was wide and sloppy. Claws sliced open her forearm with the slightest touch, the ease of a butchers best blade into warm butter. It licked the blood from its claws in a sickening sneer, the tongue blue and forked.

"You're gonna pay for that you son of a bitch,"

And she came through on her promise. Ceres raised the blade, but this time barely at waist height.

"C'mon, you want more than just a taste? Try it, try me!"

It came at her then, charging blindly. The American let it come, using its own force to run it straight through the length of the sword. The demon let out a hideous cry, but it wasn't done, and she knew it. Shoving with all her might, Ceres pinned the thing to the floor before stabbing the creature with the blade in its center again and again until its core was nothing but a mess of jagged skin and flesh.

Draco came to as she staggered towards him in a failed attempt to lift him off the floor. There was a sickening stain of blood where his skull had obviously been cracked opened and slid down the length of the wall. Paintings looked on in horror and hushed whispers. The hall, once filled with screams, was silent.

"Are you alright? What the hell was that thing?" the wizard asked, clutching his head as he rose to his feet.

_What the hell were you thinking, trying to save me just now?!_

"I'll be fine. That was an Illiquara, I'll explain later. Hospital wing, where?"

The little orb bounced to life once again, leading them down a few corridors. The odd pair half-carried each other along the way, aiding the other to continue moving. They begin to grow closer, Draco swears up and down they're almost there. Finally, for the first time, Ceres heard one of the most comforting voices a Hogwarts student could ever hope to in such a terrible situation.

"Ms. Genavieve, Mr. Malfoy, what has you two out at this late hour in such a state?"

"Professor Dumbledore, a demon got in the school and attacked us," Ceres began.

"We need to get to the Hospital Wing immediately," Draco finished.

"Of course, right this way, both of you. Curious, do you know what kind Ms. Genaveive.?"

"An Illiquara," she groaned, limping along towards the end of the hall where relief awaited her. Of course _he_ knew she had dealt with them before, probably knew exactly why too.

_Damn him._

Neither student could stop the sigh of relief when they stumbled into the doors of the hospital wing, held open by their Headmaster.

"Madame Pompfrey, I believe I have a pair of students here in need of your assistance,"

"Albus, oh dear what is going on at this late hour?"

"Mr. Malfoy has suffered a head injury, Ms. Genavieve has been poisoned by an Illiquara demon,"

"Oh dear, alright, hop into beds you two c'mon now. You may lay down Genavieve, Malfoy I need you upright so I can mend that wound."

As Ceres was laying there, having her wound bandaged and cleaned, a sudden unstoppable force of guilt clutched her in its vice. The demons behavior, there was no other explanation, was set upon her. This boy, loyalties and innocence regardless, was now injured because of her. She silently prayed that the good Madame fixed him up quickly, if only to alleviate her remorse. Why the hell had he leapt in front of her? By all accounts Draco Malfoy should have turned and ran screaming. Bravery was far from a Slytherin trait, and the Prince of such had been known to show such at great length. That man was going to face a serious inquiry, she decided, first thing tomorrow morning.

But alas, another night time visitor swept into room, halting any thoughts mournful or otherwise. None other than the Potions Master himself, antidote in hand, and a scowl at the ready.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Took an unplanned nap in the library. Malfoy found me on the way to bed."

"I saw her back to her common room," the pureblood winced, "to insure Genavieve wasn't sneaking around after hours."

"We were just moving down the 6th floor corridor when the demon found us. Malfoy tried to jinx it, but it bounced back and threw him into the wall. That's how he hit his head, Illiquara being impervious to magic and all. Then it came for me, and I killed it."

"How?"

"I ran it through with a sword. Can I have that antidote now? The poison's starting to tickle."

By tickle Ceres meant a burning equivalent to hydrochloric acid spreading outward from her wound. The Professor coldly shoved the vial in reach, and the young witch downed its contents without the slightest cringe, while Madame Pompfrey wrapped Draco's wound. She had mended it in place during Cere's glare-off with the less-than-pleasant Head of Slytherin house.

"While that is a fantastic tale Ms. Genavieve it does not change the fact that you were out of bed after hours. 50 points from Gryffindor, for your _nap_."

Professor Snape left with that last sardonic word, and a dramatic swish of his billowing black robes.

Ceres Genavieve only hoped the rest to come would be free of cost. She was certainly going to need it. Question Malfoy, class, late night flying lessons, and whatever homework she was missing now. One busy day ahead.

She didn't relish it in the least.

* * *

_A/N~ So life has a funny way of making things very difficult. This current chapter would not be half as good if not for Your Shadow Life, who thankfully read the original so none of you had to. R&R so I may be inspired to update faster! Much love to all of you who do, makes my days a little easier._


	9. Pressing Matters

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One. Song is Trick Of Logic by the Burden Brothers.

**Behind The Crimson Door**  
Chapter Nine: Pressing Matters

_When you said you would be the death of me  
__I never dreamt you could be so heavy  
__And every trick of logic brings me back to you  
I don't know what to do _

_

* * *

  
_

The first sound to greet the American witch was a sharp, slap of a thwack, followed by a great deal of pain. She had managed to fall out of bed; face first. The only thing stopping her profile from crashing into the hard tile were her forearms, now fairly bruised from the impact.

Embarrassment ran through Ceres just long enough for her to get to her feet, and realize, there was no need to be. Draco Malfoy was long since gone. Shit. The pocket watch read 7:02. Divination class started at 7:15. And a tiny piece of parchment, barely three inches wide, sat upon the table at the foot of her bed. It was tied with a thin white ribbon.

Later, she could read it later. The letter, for now, was tucked into the side pocket of her bag. The girl was nearly out the door when she noticed another, tucked beneath the first. Less elaborate than the other, just a folded scrap of parchment, torn in haste. It met its companion as the young witch burst out the door and jogged the hallways to Divination tower, taking stops two at a time. Running the girl had deemed unnecessary, there simply wasn't that much to miss in the stuffy pillow filled room.

Instant relief, the Gryffindor was able to find her seat next to Amy Costova without a single utterance of the l-word, huzzah! And with excellent timing, Professor Trewlaney checked their journals mere moments after her body settled on the tiny red poof. Ceres couldn't remember _what_ she had written, but whatever the dream had been was the necessary seven inches in length, oh happy day! Ignoring the assignment at hand of deciphering their last entries, Ceres instead chose to peruse the letters that had been left in the night. The first scrap was from Professor Wood.

"Creepy," Amy commented. It read:

_Ceres,_

_Just dropped by to make sure you were alright. I'm not aware of the extent of your injuries, but if you're not feeling up to it you can forgo practice this evening. Simply meet me at the pitch to pass in your homework, same time._

_Wood_

"He was there this morning. I was going to sign in to check on you, see if you need me to pass in your homework or anything, but Pomfrey said no visitors. The log had Wood down since 4:30am."

"Creepy indeed."

Ceres reached for the true object of interest, Amy interrupted her as soon as her delicate fingers touched the smooth, silky ribbon.

"You're not…seeing him…are you?"

"_Hell_ no. Amy, that's just, wrong! Horrible, and, _no_, and…_wrong_."

She looked up from her work at Ceres, to continue.

"I don't know what his issue is. Or Draco's for that matter. He tried to _save_ me last night. Draco-run-for-the-hills-Malfoy. I intended to question him this morning but the bastard was gone when I woke up," Ceres vented, unraveling the tiny letter over Ms. Costova's own dream journal.

Thought stopped and sounds were turned to mere white noise as she read with wide eyes and a hesitant smile:

_A golden light  
Wielded by gentle, deadly hands  
She casts it upon the world  
Shining ever bright  
Her essence  
Touching every heart  
Brings warmth to every soul  
Seductively, it offers  
Kindness, acceptance  
Love in all its greatest forms  
But is this creature angel, devil  
Or something in between?_

"Ceres. Ceres, are you even listening to me?"

"No, sorry. Another poem from Anonymous, whats the sitch?"

"My dreams, have you analyzed them yet?"

A pause from her current work, a list of possible suspects.

"I will do that now," the American answered, and did just that.

She had it complete as the bell rang out, quickly taking off with her fellow classmate towards Double Potions. From a tower to the dungeons, they had plenty of time to talk. Amy caught a glance of her "classwork".

"Honestly Ceres, you have much more pressing matters to occupy that inquisitive head of yours."

"Such as? I already finished the essay for Potions."

"Gee, I don't know, perhaps that someone is quite obviously trying to _kill _you?"

_Oh yea._

"Huh. Ya know, I'd completely forgotten about that."

Ms. Costova shook her head in dismay.

"Any ideas on who?"

She did, plenty actually. No names in particular, but faces and mentions. _He_ probably knew something, but how to get a hold of him. The man could be in Timbuktu by now, owls could only go so far!

"None what-so-frigging-ever. How would one go about getting a demon into Hogwarts, for starters."

"I bet there's a dozen possibilities, but your best bets are probably to check out Hogwarts; a History. Talk to the twins too. Fred and George know this place better than Dumbledore himself."

"Sounds like a good place to start."

The pair fell silent as the Potions Masters ever-practiced glare descended up them. They were resigned to the last remaining table, in the middle of the room. Ceres Genavieve did her best to ignore the incandescent burn of his stone cold eyes as she took her seat and withdrew the essay on moonstone. Said Slytherin, whom she still longed to interrogate, sat a mere two seats ahead.

_Lovely._

"Malfoy is positively gawking at you!" her partner hissed as they fumbled to find page 47.

"He does that," the American replied, obviously attempting to focus on her work.

"Since when?"

Ceres began to copy the instructions on the board.

"Since the train."

Today's lesson consisted of brewing a Strengthening Solution. It wasn't terribly difficult, she concurred, certainly no Polyjuice Potion, but tricky enough to be a formidable opponent. Ms. Genavieve wanted; _needed, _to get it as close to exact as possible. She was determined to prove to the greasy old man that her talent was not limited to hand-made concoctions. Amy's weak point seemed to be this very class, always skimming the instructions, never quite taking her time. Today was no exception.

"You piss him off that much?"

And, when started, always talked at the worst possible moments. Ceres was looking again, almost adding the wrong amount of dragon scales. And worse, almost crushing them. _Whole_ she reminded herself, _not_ crushed.

"Seems like. It's nothing, just not used to anyone refusing to cower before him is all,"

The shell of a soldier beetle came next, and the muggleborn was wishing for a spork. Two were lost in the task until she finally succeeded.

"Do you think, maybe, Malfoy's the one who done it?"

Nine drops of salamander blood, no more, no less, stirred three times clockwise as each fleck of red fell into the potion.

"No, there's no way,"

"But his family—"

"Genavieve, Costova; would you be so kind as to share with class what is so interesting to distract you two from your work?"

_She started it!_

"Nothing, sir. Just foolish girl talk."

"Very foolish indeed. 10 points from Gryffindor. Perhaps you two would perform more efficiently with a change of scenery? Genavieve, Blaise; change seats. Now."

Ceres did as she was told without another peep, levitating the potion onto the fire Blaise had created. Too high, she lowered the heat and set back to work. The girl didn't know what was more distracting, Amy's talkative mouth, or those obnoxious quicksilver eyes now harping over every movement. More frustrating, her only stolen glance, and he was looking back to his work.

How she managed to survive the session, _and_ create a potion a matching shade of turquoise to the Malfoy's work she had absolutely no idea. The Gryffindor simply thanked her lucky stars, as well as a few chosen deities, and fled the scene immediately.

"Sorry," Amy Costova muttered as they caught up with their friends towards the Great Hall.

"Its ok, not like I was doing any better. I'm just pissed I made us lose even more points. Uggg."

Ginny patted the American on the back as she took a seat beside her.

"It's alright, you can always gain them back."

Of course, the normally brilliant witch had not thought of this till that particular moment. Poor Ceres was far off her game, much too distracted with the mysteries of demon attacks and anonymous love poems to mentally perform at her normal levels. Which of course tended to resemble sheer madness, but then again, most individuals of higher intelligence were considered a bit off their rocker. Take Dumbledore for example.

"Oy Ceres, feelin' alright?" George asked, showing up in the nick of late-i-tude as usual, chucking a biscuit at Ron's head.

"Yea, just a scratch, no big-e,"

The American returned to her food in silence, obviously too overwhelmed with her own problems at hand. Drifting in and out of conversation, she caught something about a Katie taking the semester off to be with her ailing father at St Mungo's, a bit about Umbridge, and the rest was lost in OWL-fear as Ceres had begun to call it. None of it really registered.

Teal hued eyes started across the hall at the object of frustration. Well, one off. She sure as hell wasn't about to lock eyes with Too-Young-To-Ever-Be-Anything-Resembling-Authority Flying Instructor. That was a clear path to disaster if she ever saw one. No, she was glaring at the damned Slytherin Price. That stupid, obnoxious, Malfoy; tormenting her via heroic acts and strange conversations.

Oh, hey, an idea. No, come back you! There it was again. What if Draco really was as bad the stories said? He could be saving her under some Death Eaters orders. What if they wanted her for something better? What if they wanted her to return to those darker shadows she had experimented with not so long ago. What if they forced her to walk that dangerous path once more?

Yikes.

_Note to self, stay the fuck away from Draco Malfoy unless surrounded by others. _

Yes, that seemed like a very wise idea.

_Not to mention you have Quidditch practice this evening._

Yes, she concluded, this was just going to be one of _those_ days. The kind you only see in cheesy comedies, where absolutely everything goes wrong. But with less humor, and a great deal more suffering.

Absolutely lovely.

For a dementor, perhaps.

* * *

_A/N~ I'm not sure if this chapter was up to my usual par, but its going somewhere good I promise! Reviews are the air I breathe, so leave some. And any little things you'd like to see, go ahead and post em up. I'm like a good DJ, I take requests as long as they're nifty. ^.^_


	10. Revelation One: Opposite Sides

**Disclaimer:** See Ch. 1. Song is A Stranger by A Perfect Circle

* * *

**Behind the Crimson Door**  
Chapter Ten: Revelation One- Opposite Sides

_And I listen for the whisper  
Of your sweet insanity while I formulate  
Denials of your affect on me  
You're a stranger  
So what do I care_

_~*~  
_

"And how did she dispatch of the creature?" the Lord's Master asked with curiosity most genuine.

"A sword, wrenched from a suit of armor, according to our eye witness."

The man rose from his regal seating, disappoint crossing his features. He came to stop before a peculiar section of books, plucking one from the shelf with mild interest.

"Pity. I had hoped for something a little more…messy. And just how is the youngest Malfoy progressing?"

The elder man, the servant, did not move an inch from his spot.

"The Ministry Spy is watching student mail. Severus tells me the boy is doing quite well. You were correct my Lord, the witches curiosity is boundless."

"Excellent, just as I expected," the young man sneered, though of course the body was just an illusion. Wasn't it? He placed the open book in the snake-eyed mans hands.

"Summon the Three. Let us see how she fairs against _them_. It will certainly require much more than a simple blade."

Voldemort looked over the ceremonial passage with hesitation on that sickly gray façade of a face.

"You are certain she can defeat them?"

"No. But if she is as powerful as legend says, it shouldn't be a fatal encounter. If it is so, then the girl was useless form the start," he began, sweeping back to his throne.

"I know this girl Marvalo, she will do whatever necessary to survive. If we push her had enough, Ceres will return once again to those older, blacker reaches of the arts. Have faith Tom, you will get the revenge you seek. Now go forth and carry out my orders, or suffer the repercussions of questioning your Master's judgment."

Lord Voldemort's spine bent down to the one man he would ever bow to so long as he lived.

"As you wish, my God."

~*~

The latter half of the day passed in retching lulls and complete disassociation from the world outside the young red-heads mind. History notes were missing hodge-podge words from whole paragraphs. In Herbology she almost watered a venomous-something-or-other with mandrake juice. And if Ceres had somehow managed a conversation at dinner she had absolutely no recollection of a single word she may or may not have spoken.

Standing before Ceres Genavieve now was one such mental distraction. The older man looked handsome as ever under the yellowing stadium lights. There were no brooms in sight, and she was powerless to stop the erratic racing of her heat when Professor Wood smiled. The simple crescendo was frustrating and obnoxious, and she demanded the organ to stop. Such attempts were of course childish and futile.

Ceres handed the man her homework, avoiding his touch with care. Perhaps there was a potion or spell to control hormones? She only hoped, because this _had_ to stop.

"How are you feeling?"

"Great. Ready to fly."

The young American witch had no idea of the actual truth behind that statement. For this time the faded handle of the Comet 360 rose right into her a hand with a moment's hesitation. That seemed to be the key, she quickly discovered, the very opposite of charms and transfiguration. Simply do not think about it. Following the Professors careful instruction, she kicked off from the ground and watched in utter amazement as the simple wooden construct took her into the air. The new comer was not allowed to go very far, of course, but the wind in her hair and bats flittering about was pure happiness. Any worries of the day were completely forgotten, laid to waste and replaced by a star filled sky and a glorious view of the grounds below.

Ceres expected the man to call her back to the ground, but he did not. Instead, he took a red Quidditch thing, about the size of a volleyball with large dents, and joined her in the air. As he drew closer she remembered its name from their last lesson; the quaffle.

From there they went through every exercise Wood could think of. Simple passes to attempting to score against the ex-Keeper. Ceres only managed this twice with a few tricky maneuvers that were nothing very spectacular, and yet the Instructor was in awe. Honestly, she couldn't see why. Wouldn't it make sense for one to dive and grab the ball before it hit the ground? How could two out of ten goal attempts be anything to brag about?

"Ceres!" Oliver called, hovering near the gigantic hoops, quaffle in hand. The young witch came to a stop beside him.

"Yes, sir?"

"Have you considered trying out?"

She was utterly and completely clueless, a peculiar thing for the curious witch.

"What for?"

He laughed, and Ceres did not like it.

_Good, you shouldn't anyway._

"For Chaser of course! I'm sure someone must have said something."

_Oh yea. That whole Katie deal._

"Sorry, a lot on my mind, must have missed it. Am I even allowed to try out without a broom?"

"Try outs aren't for another two weeks, I, err, we can help you there. We should pack it in, I have a feeling it's a bit past your bedtime."

As they walked to the broom shed Ceres found it to be more than a bit. 10:18 to be exact. The young witch swore as soon as the first Hogsmeade visit came up she would buy her own.

The evening had been less torturous than she expected. Once they were airborne it seemed all romantic notions abandoned the too-young-professor's mind and were quickly consumed with Quidditch stratagems and such sporting tactics. It was a welcome relief.

"The tryouts are in two weeks," he continued to ramble on, talking too fast, and with vapid hand gestures to accompany it. Ceres decided he looked like some sort of fanboy, a sports fanboy. Not a jock, simply because he had a brain, and wasn't obnoxious and unpleasant. On the contrary, his sport-talk was fairly adorable, though she did her best to obliterate the thought as soon as it breathed.

_It __**would **__be adorable in someone my age. Mmhm. That's what I meant. Right._

As they made their way to the side entrance off the pitch there was in fact someone her age. Someone with icy gray eyes and platinum blonde hair. Perfect! Just the man she needed to talk to.

"What in Merlin's britches is he doing here?" the elder man grumbled. Ceres, fairly certain she wasn't supposed to have heard, ignored the comment and began to plot just how to approach the boy.

"Oy! Malfoy! What are you doing outside at this hour?"

The Gryffindor could see the Draco's scowl at this short distance, and knew this couldn't lead to anything good.

"Strict orders from Professor Snape to see Genavieve to her House."

Then Oliver did something very uncharacteristic, at least to Ceres anyhow. He glared(_glared!_) at the Slytherin Prince. And the words spoken in reply were not calm, but harsh. Why did Draco's presence matter to him?

"Well you can go back to the dungeons, I have orders from Dumbledore to take care of that task myself."

_Of course. Gryffindors verus Slytherins._

Where this animosity came from she had no idea, but now it was just…irksome. Couldn't she just go to bed already?

"Snape told me explicitly not to let her out of my sight until she is "safely inside her common room. And that's what I intend to do."

"Really? You're going to keep her safe? You of all people?"

"If you think I relish the task of protecting an _American, mudblood_ of _Gryffindor_, than you are sorely mistaken. However, if that's what my Head of House tells me to do, then yea. I guess I am. Besides, doesn't a Professor have more important things to do than escort fifth year girls to their beds?"

It was in that moment where all the facts fell into place. Why would Oliver Wood quit a perfectly satisfying and higher paying career with Puddlemere United to teach Quidditch to first year students? Why would Draco be following her about being less-of-a-prick than usual? Orders. From opposite sides of the table. Oliver Wood was acting on those from the Order of the Phoenix, and Draco's had to be from, merciful Goddess, Voldemort himself.

She suddenly wanted to get out of there. Quickly. Now.

"There aren't many things more important than following my boss's orders Malfoy, though I expect you wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

"Oh? And why is that, _Professor?_" The pureblood sneered, smearing the title as if it were something to be ashamed of.

Ceres Genavieve had had entirely enough of this.

"Hey! Its late, we all want to sleep. Maybe safety in numbers is a good idea. So either you can both walk me back to my dorm, though I think I could get there just fine on my own, or you can play rock paper scissors and be done with it."

_Or just whip em out and measure. Frigging men._

They replied, in disturbing tandem;

"What the hell is rock paper scissors?"

By the shared look between them, they found it equally off-putting. Ceres pushed through them towards the door.

"Alright, I'm going to bed now. Either follow me or, I dunno, go back to jabbering back and forth like a couple of kids. No offense, Professor. Goodnight."

_Musn't forget that, ya know, ever._

And follow they did, eyes hardly leaving the other save to gaze at _her_. This had to be the most awkward stroll through the castle of her life thus far, and she kept waiting for them to just slug it out. The silence, Ceres thought, was worst of all. She couldn't have been more wrong.

"So Ceres, all things aside, would you be interested in a more vigorous training session? If you want to try out for the team, that is."

The young Gryffindor was of course flanked by the two of them, slightly behind as if the men were fighting to play point. Her teal orbs glanced at Draco's death glare; glad to not be on the receiving end for a change.

"As long as it doesn't distract from my studies," she replied, pretending to greet the portraits as they passed. Looking into those hazel eyes never lead to anything good.

"Of course, you have other obligations."

Ceres had never seen Draco this furious since that morning of glitter. Why? Because he wanted her? Because Oliver was getting in the way? Were they, disturbing a thought as it was, competing for her affections? Her, Ceres Genavieve, American muggle-born Gryffindor, the object of infatuation for both a Hogwarts Professor _and_ the Slytherin Prince? The girl wondered if there could possibly be a more ludicrous idea, there mere suggestion of it made the Gryffindor sick to her stomach. Luna Lovegood herself would find this laughable, Ceres was certain.

She _had_ to get a new watch. She _needed_ to get a lead on whatever, whoever, however, was trying to kill her. She _yearned_ for nothing more than to be rid of the quarrelling men surrounding her as soon as could be done so. If not soon the young American feared her mind would vocally explode in a ranting scream of "What the hell do you two want from me?!"

The Portrait of the Fat Lady had never been such a welcome sight.

"Thank you for seeing me to my house," she addressed them, "both of you."

The Malfoy scowled, his face drawn in a lecherous sneer that clearly expressed he didn't give a damn, neither here nor there. It was a front for the Professor, and she knew it. Or was it a front for her? Shit. She had no idea.

Oliver Wood replied with a kind "Anytime," and "goodnight," before the young red-head whispered the password and stole away to her own thoughts.

There were but a few things she, at this time, knew for certain.

First, Draco Malfoy was behaving differently around her. Why that was remained a mystery.

Second, both the Slytherin and Gryffindor graduate were receiving separate orders from opposing parties to keep the semi-wandless witch under close surveillance. Meaning Professor Wood had been hired by Dumbledore as an agent of the Order, and Draco Malfoy was working for someone against them; undoubtedly Lord Voldemort himself.

Third; a letter from a strange owl was awaiting her attention. From the absence of white ribbon, it was not concerning heart-felt romance either.

* * *

_A/N~ Hey everyone! This chapter was extremely delayed due to that fun little thing called college. I think this installment in particular was worth the wait, and I hope you do too. Reviews! You should leave them. And ideas! Pitch me random silly ideas and I shall included them. Anything at all. The Weasley twins singing along to Parklife by Blur, for example. R&R for speedier updates!!!  
_


	11. Unreliable Rebellions

**Disclaimer:** See Ch1. Lyrics are A Beautiful Lie by 30 Seconds to Mars.

* * *

**Behind The Crimson Door**  
Chapter Eleven: Unreliable Rebellions

_I'm running around in circles, baby  
A quiet desperation's building higher  
I've got to remember this is just a game_

_~*~  
_

Amy was there, the pile of books suggested she was quite buried in work. Not far away on an opposite sofa lay the Boy Who Lived, staring off into some distant abyss. He did that a lot lately, in addition to quarreling with his nearest and dearest. The unwritten law of Gryffindor these days was to simply let him be; give him a wide birth whenever possible. The first years found this out the hard way.

"I checked this out for you," Ms. Costova smiled, handing the American a worn copy of Hogwarts; A History. Harry had yet to acknowledge her presence, but this was behavior as usual, and Ceres paid it no mind. The tawny owl was fidgeting and would wait no longer.

"Thanks, I'll give it a look over in just a sec, this guy looks like he's been here a while."

The seasoned witch looked to the feathered messenger with a glare.

"I tired getting it off, but the bugger bit me, twice," and showed her the cuts to prove it, "For your eyes only I guess."

Ceres approached the avian with hesitance, but it showed no sign of resistance when pale hands reached for the twine. There was no need for it to be, the creature had followed its masters orders, its job was now complete.

Parchment touched skin and an electric current of energy, white hot, seared her fragmented aura. The letter contained but one word; 'Soon'.

The girl had but a moment to drop the dark object before it burst in flames, the word carved out before her in fiery script before vanishing in a fireball. The smoke curled into a twisted symbol; a skull with a snake protruding from its jaws and arrows maddeningly in all directions supporting it. It lasted barely seconds; the thing quickly fading away like those memories of the past. A distant nightmare that simply could not be real.

"What the bloody _hell_ was that?"

Amy's outburst and the explosion of dark magic had Potter's attention.

"I don't know,"

Oh, but this was a lie. The second that boundless force flowed through her veins Ceres Genavieve knew _exactly_ what it was.

"Though, wild guess, I'm gonna say it was the guy whose trying to kill me."

"Voldemort?" the boy finally spoke, as if he had been attentive the entire time; which he probably had been, "That _was_ the Dark Mark," he added, as if the American required further explanation.

"Well then he's not alone, cause the other half of that thing was the _discordian star_, the mark of a Chaos Lord."

Ms. Costova was baffled, Harry thoroughly perplexed.

"That's not possible, they all died in the last rebellion, back in the 1600's."

Now it was Ceres turn to be surprised, and it showed.

"What?" the witch asked indignantly, "One of us has to take notes."

"Well that's dandy, but apparently your wizard rebellions aren't that frigging reliable because at least one of them is alive."

"But we don't know that for sure," Harry interjected, "it could just be a sick joke from Malfoy--"

The girl shook her head vigorously, sending garnet locks in all directions before the boy could continue his accusative avenue of thought.

"No, there's _no_ way. Draco is very smart, and very cruel, but this? The level of magic that letter contained is far beyond any of a Hogwarts student. Think of a sociopathic Dumbledore, that's pretty much what I'm dealing with."

"Well it doesn't change the fact that he's probably involved."

"I never said that," Ceres pointed out, "In fact, I suspect Wood's involved too. Is there anything you could tell me about him and the Order of the Phoenix? I wouldn't ask if my life didn't _possibly_ depend on it."

The black haired boy scowled, and the American a not-un-characteristic glare that she had not had the displeasure of being on the receiving end of until this moment. It made her squirm worse than any of the men previously mentioned, his frustration near the breaking point of spontaneous combustion.

"I don't know anything about what's going on; the Order is keeping _me_ in the dark. Sorry to disappoint you, but if you want answers you're on your own."

"Fantastic, thanks for all your help,"

"Anytime," he acidly replied.

There were a dozen or more things she wanted to say the boy. Advice on his predicament, and a few choice American phrases, but Ceres decided now was not the time for it. Sleep, she needed sleep. Actual rest on something other than a couch. Thanking her fellow Gryffindor for the book, she promised to read it in the morning and dragged herself up the stairs to bed.

How she managed to change clothes and climb into the four poster the girl had no idea. It must have been done simply on instinct, for her mind was racing, stumbling and tripping and falling only to get back up again on shaky limbs, over the nights discoveries.

That Oliver Wood was working for Dumbledore under the Order was a nearly indisputable fact. Draco Malfoy's position on the opposite side of the table, though unproved, was an easy enough assumption to make. What other reason could there be for his interest in her? She was everything he detested, not a single thing about her could have been attractive to him. Could it? No one _really_ knew what the boy liked, as none of her friends truly knew him at all save for what he showed them. Which, let's face facts, wasn't much.

The decision of belief caused a very, very odd pang of hurt in the Gryffindor. Why should it matter to her whether or not the Slytherin Prince had feelings for her? She didn't like him, right? It was all only stupid hormones, wasn't it?

The memory of that touch came flooding back, and the feelings evoked made her cheeks flush a brilliant shade of scarlet identical to the bed she lay in. Ceres was only interested in the boy because of his esteemed interest in her, just a simple need for answers. That was all, wasn't? If so, did she not have the answers now? Why on Goddess's green Earth could she not remove Draco Malfoy from her mind? It had to be _something_.

No. It wasn't something. It wasn't anything but a need to answer the questions before the solutions brought her dead. That was the only answer. One should _know_ when they liked someone. One _would _know. And Ceres knew she did not _like_ Malfoy. Draco had to be working for whoever this Chaos Lord was, that was the only answer. His orders tonight came from Severus Snape, who no one really trusted; this seemed to be a common trait of the reptilian house of Hogwarts. Snape received his orders from someone not Dumbledore, otherwise there would be no reason for his adamant stance on seeing her to bed.

Now for the even bigger, nastier, question; what did they want _her_ for? Sure, she was an accomplished witch, but there were plenty of Wiccans that could perform magic on much higher levels than she. Ceres tried to shake off the question before it made her dizzy, the answer would reveal itself eventually, of this she was certain.

She had to have priorities. She had to find out how the demon got in the school. She had to find out just who plotted the attack; someone in the school had to be in on it. She wanted to find out who the poems were from. She needed to get those notions of her head. She had to stay away from Draco Malfoy.

And she had absolutely no idea how she felt about the last.

* * *

_A/N~ Hey everyone! The extreme lateness of this update is due to the fact that I am back in college, thus getting anything done outside of schoolwork and my novel is very difficult. If this seems short, fear not, chapter twelve is already underway. Should sometime in the upcoming week. Please R&R for it inspires to me write more, and update quickly. Hope you enjoyed the read!_


	12. Just Trying To Save You

**Disclaimer:** See Ch 1. Song use is Foo Fighters- The Pretender.

* * *

**Behind The Crimson Door**  
Chapter Twelve: Just Trying To Save You

_I'm the voice inside your head  
You refuse to hear  
I'm the face that you have to face  
Mirrored in your stare  
I'm what's left, I'm what's right  
I'm the enemy  
I'm the hand that will take you down  
Bring you to your knees  
~*~_

Staying away from the Slytherin Prince was proving to be more difficult than previously thought, even in sleep. Ceres Genavieve had spent her unconscious hours dreaming of just that person, saving her life once again, this time vanquishing the demon on his own.

Every time he would look at her with that same soulless look in his eyes, that gaze, silently telling her to stay away; not to ask questions, not pry into his mind. And yet at the same time it said to come closer, urging her forward. Every time she awoke, whispering his name in pure confusion, and not his surname either.

Ceres Genavieve did not sleep in that morning.

Everything went by in a blur until Professor Umbridge put the smooth passing of time to a grinding halt. She didn't recall breakfast, or whatever they had supposedly learned in Care of Magical Creatures. She never once noticed those lethal silver eyes on her, though they were so any moment the two were in the same room. Mental sparks flew as the class was instructed to copy chapter two word for word, as many times as possible in the time allotted. In all her years of the occasional idiotic teacher she had never once seen anything _this_ bad. And that was an extensive list to top. Even the platinum blonde two rows in front of her, who see she so wasn't pay any attention to, seemed less than pleased.

There wasn't much to the chapter, as it turned out, not even the tiniest inkling of actual magic. As soon as it was rewritten once on the parchment before her the Gryffindor took out a spare piece and began jotting down a list of possible ways one could get a demon inside the grounds. Pity how only one day prior the girl was listing possible secret admirers. She shook the thought off before it could gain further hold. So focused was the young witch that she never noticed the somehow towering figure of the stout and shrewd Professor only inches away.

"Genavieve,what _exactly_ are you doing?"

"Work," the girl replied, "very important, otherwise I would stop. Is there a problem Professor?"

"Yes," she clipped, snatching the paper titled Possible Suspects (For Murder) from her workspace and brandishing it before her. "This is the problem."

"Really? I thought it was the lack of actual magic being taught in this classroom, at the school of Witchcraft and Wizardy, but obviously you know much more than I do. Tell me, what is the problem m`am?"

Everything stopped. Quills were deadly still, even Peeves could be seen watching the spectacle just outside the door. Never had there been such stillness in an occupied classroom of Hogwarts.

"The problem, Genavieve," she began in that sickeningly sweet voice that Ceres knew just had to be frigging bonkers, "is the belief of propaganda such as this."

"Propaganda?! There's the corpse of a demon killed in defense by yours truly that says otherwise."

"And who is to say you did so in self defense? What proof do you have Ms. Genavieve that the creature was not in fact summoned by your own hands?"

The American felt before she heard Harry Potter stand up, and knew this was it. This time she could _not_ let him speak. This time she had to be brave. This time she had to save him from the Ministry's pet hound of hell. With every ounce of power she could muster Ceres aimed her wand at the Boy Who Lived behind her back with the mental command of "sit down. silence." Much to her surprise, it actually worked, the jinx, and she held the wand there as instructed in previous text books.

"Well the fact that it tried to kill me, for one. Oh, and that I'm not a ruthless chaos lord. I doubt a girl my age could figure out how to successfully a demon, unless you know something I don't professor?"

"I clearly know many things you do not, Genavieve. Detention,"

"Screw you,"

"Every night this week,"

"I'm going to take a nap Professor, hope that's alright, I'm suddenly not feeling well. I think it's the sickeningly awful literature."

"My office, promptly at 6:30."

Ceres left before the shrewd hag could spew out another syllable. She didn't care that Draco was watching her every step of the way. Nope. Not one frigging bit. She wasn't entirely sure how she got there but some way or another the girl found herself curled up in the professor's chair of a very abandoned classroom somewhere on the 8th floor. At least she wouldn't be late for Charms. Hogwarts; a History was spread out on her lap, most particularly the chapter on its spells and enchantments; the magical force field that stops intruding wizards and muggles from entering the grounds

"The only known exemption to this seems to be the house elves of the schools employment, who of course can come and go as they need for various tasks about the castle. As their magic is much different than our own, but no less powerful, it operates on a different set of rules, and thus allows them to apparate throughout the castle. The spell itself is said to be the work of all four Head of Houses; Salazar Slytherin procured the anti-muggle charm…"

Now there was a thought. Demonic magic was much different then that of any human being, it too operated on its own set of rules from the kingdom of Dis. What if that was all that was needed? In this way, couldn't a demon therefore apparate into the castle as commanded without the need for inside help? It certainly had its possibilities.

But those ideas would have to be entertained at a later hour. Charms was set to start in less than five minutes, followed by Double Transfiguration and, she cringed, detention with Umbridge.

Both classes Ceres performed less than admirably in. The flask was scaly and fairly reptilian, less crystalloid than lizard-like. Stupid iguana. McGonagall gave her a penetrating stare that clearly said the wise woman knew something was most definitely up, but would not comment any further. At least not in a public classroom.

Charms had been much of the same, and dinner dragged by in a miserable slum where the witch was certain she had been vaulted with questions and hadn't answered a single one. She was very glad in that moment that the men could not get in the girls dormitory. Harry hadn't yet decided if he was going to thank or hex her into oblivion, but he certainly seemed to be leaning toward the latter. So much for saving his ass.

In truth, the remaining of the day went by far too quickly, and it seemed mere minutes in time as the American dragged her corpse of the passageways to the office of Dolores Umbridge, High Inquisitor from Hell, bitch queen Professor of Defense Against Fuck All. No, that's not want the plaque on her door read, but Ceres wished it had, it would have been far more accurate.

She didn't bother knocking.

"Come in Ms. Genavieve, do have a seat,"

Eager to have this portion of her evening over as soon as humanly possible, the witch elected to simply do as the woman asked. She sat down in the uncomfortable looking wicker chair, the pink cushion lumpy and wretched. The meowing of porcelain kittens was already giving her a headache. A tiny white table sat before her, equipped with the standard parchment and an oddly metallic quill.

"This evening you will be writing lines. I'm sure you are familiar with this from America?" Ceres nodded, though archaic and never used in fifty years, the Professor continued, "Good. Tonight you will be writing 'I must not tell lies.' "

"How many times?"

"As long as it takes for the message to _sink in_."

The girl sighed, figuring she'd be here all night, so might as well to get started. Then there was something amiss.

"'Scuse me Miss, there's no ink."

"Oh, you wont _need_ any ink dear."

Huh. Maybe it was a special punishment quill. It would run out of ink when the task was done. Certainly it would save her from an embarrassing mess in the least.

This was not the case.

A sharp, stinging sensation seared through Ceres skin as she wrote on the parchment in oddly red ink "I must not tell lies." Shrugging, she pressed on. And it happened again. And again. Finally two lines later did she feel the blood spilling over left hand. There was no need for ink, the Gryffindor realized, she already had ten pints on her, inside her. The horror on the girl's face must have been apparent, for Dolores looked at her with an innocent smile that was sadistically kind.

"Is something wrong dear?"

Ceres Genavieve knew just what the elder witch was playing at. The tactless American, push her hard enough, and she'll whine to the staff. And this Ministry bitch would have them fired one by one until Hogwarts belonged to Fudge and his government of nutcases.

She would not let that happen. She would not be broken. She would smile, yes just like that, reply "Nothing at all, Professor," and carve out the crime in flesh. The next hours of self-inflicted torture were spent musing over whether or not the wretched excuse for a witch had ever read The Merchant of Venice.

The time did not pass quickly, or easily, but it did pass. When the candles down to their last quarter of wax, the elder woman looked at her left hand, not the repetitive paper, and said Ceres was done for this evening. They would work on it again tomorrow. Splendid.

The witch immediately ran to the common room of her beloved Gryffindor house, but would not be there for long. No, detention was fine. Yes, she needed the password for the prefects bathroom. No, she had not run into Malfoy, but a relief from the stress of her current life was needed and if Hermione Granger did not grant her the password she would swim with the squid. The American transfer student had simply lost all capacity to care.

Ron gave her the password. Hermione hit him with a book, luckily not a large one. A poof of black hair emerging from the boys dormitory signaled her exit. Ceres Genavieve, bathing suit in hand, ran from the sanctuary she had grown to love. She did not look back.

Perhaps if she had remembered just _who_ the other prefects of Hogwarts were, the young witch would not have been so eager to leave.

Then again, perhaps it would have only made her run faster.

* * *

_A/N~ So I'm severely disappointed in you guys. A dozen plus new adds and favs, and the only review is from my best friend. Lucky for you I'm in a charitable mood and updated anyway. Reasons for you guys to leave me at least three reviews next chapter: Draco confesses, it doesn't go as planned. At all. Ceres past playing catch up. Oh! And a hot-shit kiss scene. Yea. I wont post it until I get at LEAST three reviews. Start typing now. _


	13. Because I Want You

**Disclaimer: **See Ch 1. Song: Placebo- Because I Want You

* * *

**Behind The Crimson Door**  
Chapter Thirteen: Because I Want You

_Fall into you, is all I seem to do  
Cause I'm afraid to be alone.  
Tear us in two, is all it seems to do...  
Don't give up on the dream,  
Don't give up on the one thing that's true  
~*~_

The bathroom was not behind a portrait at all, as one would think, but guarded by the statue of a very bewildered wizard with his gloves on the wrong hands. With the sound of the password; pinefresh, it moved aside from the door.

Perhaps the added security, Ceres surmised, was because it was not a bathroom, infact, but a jewel-encrusted Olympic sized swimming pool. The entire room gleamed of white marble, the hundred plus gold taps just begging to be tested. The girl immediately changed into her bathing suit, a simple soft leaf green bikini, and did just that. The room wasn't too gaudy, honest. At the least the diving board wasn't made of solid gold.

The Gryffindor had barely gone through half the founts before impatience got the best of her; the pool was full, the water was just too damned inviting. She limbered up, as years of swim team had taught her, and dove right into the silken caress without the tiniest splash.

Ceres wasn't sure how long she had been in for, moving back and forth across the water with acute, angered precision, an exacting attack on the aqueous liquid. The girl was shocked the opaque foam hadn't hindered her mobility in the least, it looked as if it could hold a small child of nine.

Beginning to prune, and knowing this much water was going to get cold eventually, the American got out to try a few more dives. A front flip sounded blessedly daring. A wonderful, horrible, delightful idea.

She began to limber up, our girl did, stretching her arms high over head before bending down to touch her toes. The back came next, extending herself to bend and arch the spine impossibly behind her. Precisely, at that moment, the door, in sight due to the strained angle, flew silently open. In it stood the last man she needed to stay away from; the platinum blonde from her dreams. And it was hard to tell who of the two was more surprised.

"Draco! What the hell are you doing here?!"

The characteristic smirk of amusement blossomed as the door shut deafeningly, fatally, behind him. He stalked towards her, looking the girl up and down like something good enough to eat.

"As you are so _keen_ to forget, I am a _prefect_, and this," he gestured dramatically with open arms, "is the _prefect's_ bathroom."

The tone, annoyingly condescending, failed to upset the young witch where it should have.

"The real question is, what are _you_ doing here?"

"Swimming. I thought that was pretty obvious, what from the bathing suit and my state of dripping wet. Funny, I thought Slytherins were supposed to be, how does the song go, cunning? Or something? You, being their Prince, should have exemplified qualities of it, but from what I've seen that definitely ain't the case. Kinda ironic innit?"

Malfoy's gaze went from amused to furious. Whatever invisible line they had been treading these past few days the girl had crossed. Whatever shred of patience the American had left was gone, and seemingly, so was Malfoy's. There was going to be hell to pay.

"You have a lot to answer for, Genavieve."

On both sides.

"_I_ have a lot to answer for? You, Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince, Pureblood hater of all things muggleborn and all things otherwise, attempted to save my life. Though I _know_ you're working for the man whose trying to kill me. Don't even deny that.

You can't keep your intense frigging eyes off me, save my ass from Umbridge, and have not called me 'mudblood' once when you're alone with me. Its like there are somehow two of you and fucking hell I wish you would pick one because Goddess damnit its make me frigging dizzy, you infatuating bastard."

The girl was gasping for breath now, watching the twin emotions of horror and fury play out on the boys face, and wondered just how many seconds she had before he hexed her into all living forms of hell. She began ticking off the seconds under her breath.

The boy did no such thing. Not a single word, not the slightest jinx came from those pale lips. Instead, Draco grabbed the girl, this American muggleborn of Gryffindor house, and _kissed_ her. He grabbed her soaking wet body and shoved his mouth upon her, insistently, demandingly; a deadly duo of dominance and passion.

And Ceres couldn't help it, hormones or otherwise, she tangled her hands in that precisely styled platinum hair and kissed Draco back. It was an utter whirlwind of a sensation. Never had this curious girl been kissed so…thoroughly. It swept her off her feet, floating, seamless, endlessly. She never wanted the feeling to stop; it was just so unbelievably free. Unfortunately, oxygen became an issue, and both parties broke apart, reluctantly, breathless. The heat running through her, it had to be hormones. The insistent need to be closer, it had to be pointless chemicals, didn't it?

"Because I want you."

This should have made her blood run cold, Draco's admission, should have had _some_ opposing affect other than the desperate beating of her heart. It didn't. Though she knew it _had_ to be a lie, it didn't. Not one bit.

"And I know you felt something when you took that stupid jinx off me, I felt it too. Even…before that. You can't stand here and deny it. You feel _something_ for me."

There was a deafening pause before the girl finally whispered:

"No."

Not _exactly_ the response Draco Malfoy had been hoping for.

"_**No?**_"

"No, you're lying. This is just another _stupid_ tactic to get closer to me so you can keep tabs on me for whoever the hell it is Snape is getting his orders from. You son of a bitch."

"You don't feel _anything_ for me? At all?"

Shit.

"I never said that, but I doubt you have genuine feelings for me anyway, so it doesn't fucking matter. Either way, nothing changes."

"Really? Because I thought my poems made that abundantly clear."

Then she stopped breathing.

"Your… _your_ poems?!"

"Yes, my poems, Ceres. I am human, after all. Though cumbersome they may be, I do have feelings. Is it really that surprising?"

"Yea, actually, it is."

She couldn't stand it any longer, she had to get a towel. If his eyes carved out her skin one more time Ceres feared she'd jump him on the spot. Yikes!

"So am I an angel, or a devil?"

"I haven't decided yet," the Slytherin replied, watching her dry her crimson locks in far too intense a manner, "Both, I think. Do you believe me now?"

Ceres proceeded to pull the slightly oversized AC/DC shirt on over her head.

"Nope!"

The boy sighed, nearly a growl; aggravated. This woman would be his undoing, he was sure of it.

"Let me prove it to you."

The girl was fully dressed, and yet not less confused.

"_How?_"

Again, the trademark smirk. He definitely had something up his sleeve, and the American witch was anxious to find out what. Very, very _anxious_.

"Leave that to me. Astronomy Tower, tomorrow night, after your detention."

The Gryffindor could not stop her full body recoil at the mere sound of the word, silently glad that it had yet to leave a scar.

"But…Filch,"

"I'll be waiting for you," he advanced, "outside Umbridge's office," the sincerity in his eyes stopped any suspicion dead in its tracks, "you have nothing to worry about."

If this was all an act then Draco Malfoy deserved an Emmy.

"Nope, just a shit ton of homework, stopping whoever it is from trying to kill me, oh! And an angry Chosen One. Yea, this'll be good fun. Like PSATs all over again; muggle NEWTs" she added before he could ask.

"What's got Potty's knickers in a bunch?" the blonde boy asked, following the tenacious Gryffindor he claimed to love (love?) out of their incidental meeting place. She began hiking the many flights to her common room tower.

"You were there, you saw what I did today,"

"Yea, I saw you save his obnoxious arse, so?"

Crimson locks whipped around, mouth agape that he of all people did not understand, he who knew her better than any other soul in this establishment.

"I _hexed_ him," she replied, shaking her head in dismay before continuing on.

"No, you didn't," the pureblood denied, grabbing the girls slim arm, forcing her to face him; demanding Ceres to see the honesty in his cold grey eyes, "As far as I can tell, you took the damned jinx for him. Bloody stupid thing of you to do, too."

"Oh?"

"Yea. Before you were just another witch. Now she sees you, and will probably make your life a living hell."

"Well she can get in line. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to hack at a pile of homework, the dungeons are that way," stated the redhead, pointing back the way he had come. The boy in question became completely flabbergasted, and she had to admit, it was quite cute. Not often was Draco Malfoy at a loss for words.

"But…but…I need to see you to your bed."

"Yea? On whose orders?"

"Mine."

"Think for one frigging second, please. Your interest in me already looks suspicious, do you want anyone asking why you're following an American muggleborn around without orders from your Head of House?"

He glared in silence, for a moment or two, before grudgingly admitting:

"You may have a point," and the look in his eyes sent shivers down her spine, caused the world to fade in distance; it was simply that intense. There were a thousand unspoken desires in that expression, a thousand unsaid words on those lips. And here, with the possibility of witness, they would remain silent; unheard.

"Goodnight Ceri. Sleep well."

And he was gone, nothing dramatic or special about it. Silver eyes did not look back, for if they did, Ceres theorized, he might not know how to leave.

It was very late, and the common room was blessedly unoccupied. Ceres' book bag was waiting for on the too-comfy scarlet sofa, the required text already on the table with bits of parchment sticking out in odd places. Amy had marked the pages for tonight's potions homework; she would have to thank her in the morning. There was no essay, just questions one through fourteen. In-completes would not be accepted.

Strangely enough, staying awake was not a problem. The determined witch easily moved from Snape's assignment to the required Transfiguration reading. She did doze off eventually, dreaming of him again; that kiss, those words. Genavieve awoke with a start not long after, into the early morning, and dragged herself into bed. She was determined to beat Lavender to the shower this time. She was determined to get to the bottom of this Draco-dilemma. She was determined to find her attempted-killer. But most of all, she was determined to get a dreamless nights sleep.

The last would not be the case. She would be revisited by those cold eyes, that passionate embrace, and those solemn words until the sun rose once again, and the young witch of America would sleep no more.

* * *

_A/N~ Essay worth 30% of my grade and an Italian test ate all time for writing, so I made up for it by making this pretty lengthy, and I think pretty damn awesome. As always, read and review for updates; otherwise this sits in a shoebox never to be read again. Cept by me. Cause I'm evil that way. Hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing. _


	14. No Rest For The Wicked

**Disclaimer:** See Ch. 1 Lyrics are Sweet Pandemonium by H.I.M.

* * *

**Behind the Crimson Door**  
Chapter Fourteen: No Rest For The Wicked

_The truth that could set souls free  
Is buried within sweet pandemonium  
Concealed by disbelief  
The riddle stays veiled in sweet pandemonium  
_~*~

Ceres preferred to count the upsides of a day's events, no matter how badly they seemed to be outnumbered. The first of Friday's was the hot shower, finally having beaten Lavender and Parvati to the girl's wash room.

She preferred to ignore the fact it was five in the morning, and not a creature was stirring, not even Hermione. The first pure white rays of dawn had only begun to pierce the retreating darkness, and the first week without caffeine was beginning to sour her mood. This pumpkin juice thing just had to go, the Gryffindor had decided. There had to be coffee somewhere, and she contemplated flirting its location out of Professor Wood. It certainly had its possibilities.

Repulsed, the American quickly shook the thought from consciousness, only to have it replaced by a certain attractive Slytherin with piercing grey eyes. This image, however, was there to stay, no matter how hard she tried to shove it out of mind. That Ceres couldn't honestly say she detested its presence didn't help matters either.

Settling into the common room, the young with resolved to spend the mourning pouring through Hogwarts, A History. She wasn't even sure what she was looking for, but began to skim the index for the words: kitchen, coffee, demons, and Apparating. What the witch found instead was a very interesting tidbit on the Forbidden Forrest. It was something she probably should have just asked Harry about, but it was a touchy subject, and the Boy Who Lived was touchy enough already.

Then, as if summoned, green eyes, heavy from extreme sleep deprivation, were boring down on her for the doorway of the boys dormitory. Ceres swore as he trudged down the staircase. There was no getting out of this one; Goddess damnit. His voice was flat, tone clipped and restrained, when he finally spoke.

"We need to talk."

"OK. Talk."

"You jinxed me yesterday."

"Yea, I did," she replied simply, because the girl honestly didn't know what else to say. He looked like he was going to explode, and Ceres had a feeling that her fate was going to resemble the ancient city of Pompeii.

"So? Don't you have something else to add?"

The intuitive girl knew just what Harry wanted her to add, and instantly Draco's voice came whispering his advice into the cool walls of her mind. She knew what to say then.

"Yea. I'm not sorry. I wish there was a nicer way to do it, but I won't apologize for saving your ass. Now you're off Umbridge's radar while she has those nasty little eyes set on me. No, there's no need to thank me, saving your melodramatic speech will do just fine."

Harry was speechless. No one had the gall to speak to him like this since thay had come back to school, not even the usually-brash Hermione. And Ceres wasn't finished either.

"A bit of advice? You should lay off your friends, a least be a little understanding. And don't even think about cutting me off, let – me – finish. Think for a sec, if you were Voldemort, how would you think to take down Harry Potter? Separate him, cut him off from his allies. You're a weaker target when you're alone, everyone is. Don't play into his hands. If you're gonna claim this Chosen One title, which I have no doubt you are, you better start acting like one. Fast."

If the young witch didn't know better, she would have sworn the boy had been Petrified, he was simply that inanimate. Whatever he had planned to say upon marching down there was lost to the wind now; Harry was supposed to be the accuser not the accused.

Ceres used his dumbfoundment as a means of escape, and quickly slipped away to the dining hall before the boy came to his senses. The morning was made no better by a run-in with Peeves, whom she elected to practice the Silencing Charm on. The poltergeist was unable to insult another living soul for another two hours. It was probably the nicest thing she would end up doing for her fellow class mates all day.

The food probably smelled delicious, the girl reasoned; tables lined with everything from golden hash browns to fluffy Belgian waffles. Her appetite had simply had not awoken with the rest of her form this morning. Coffee; that was all the witch wanted. Ocean blue eyes searched the red and gold table and, as expected, came up empty. Resigned, Ceres Genavieve laid her head down none-too-delicately on folded pale arms.

"Oy, Ceres, you alive there gorgeous?"

Fred? Raising her head to respond seemed to beyond her body's capabilities. She settled for mover her hand in a 'so-so' motion.

"What's wrong?"

Genuine concern again, from the other twin. George?

"Need coffee" she muttered through her shining red veil, though the sounds of her own voice sounded loud enough to echo off the walls of her skull.

Ceres felt, rather than saw, the twins share a look, before she was hauled to her feet be strong, calloused hands of identical size and led out the doors. It all happened so fast the young witch couldn't even begin to protest. The girl barely registered that the platinum blonde glaring as they dragged her through the double doors was Draco Malfoy until two hallways later. He would demand an explanation sometime today, of this she was absolutely certain. She wondered if the source would be jealously, or anger that 'his woman had been man-handled', or something else entirely.

It then occurred to the witch that she had not thought to ask where they were taking her. But there was no need for it now, the twins had pulled their exhausted comrade to a stop before a twice-man-sized painting of a very large bowl of fruit. There was no password here, save for the tickling of a football size pear. Ceres never thought of pears as being ticklish, but was certainly glad it wasn't a banana. That just _sounded_ awkward. The fruit became a handle, the painting a very large door into an equally large kitchen, habituated by a large number of house elves. So this is where they call came from. Immediately the three red-heads were descended upon.

"Masters Weasley and friend, what can Dobby fetch for you today?"

"Not us Dobby, but our friend Ceres here is in desperate need of an awakening. Think you could get us a cup of coffee for her?"

"I would be eternally grateful," the girl herself spoke, forcing her lips to form clear and distinct words. The effort did not go without notice.

"Of course! I'll get the French press right away!"

The girls eyes lit up dramatically at the mere sound of the word, and there, mere moments later, was a cup of coffee surrounded by more sugar cubes and cream than one could possibly ever need.

Three things happened in immediate succession. Ceres took the initial sip, locked Dobby in a very enthusiastic embrace, and proceeded to tell him how he had become her favorite person in existence. Dobby blushed to the color of the young girls hair, and the Weasley twins simultaneously replied "you're welcome". They received the same treatment. All of this, without spilling a drop of the prized beverage. She savored every ounce of it before unenthusiastically departing for another morning of Double Potions.

The Gryffindor walked into the oppressing dungeon with a noticeable bounce in step as if nothing could bring her down. She responded with a dismissive "Sure, okay" upon being assigned once again to share a table with Draco Malfoy, and did her best to not acknowledge his presence as she set to work.

Of course, dreaming about him all night had made that absolutely impossible, and Ceres quickly found herself taking in every inch of him when they were supposed to be taking notes, worth 15% of the assignment grade. It was worth every point.

The Slytherin Prince was living perfection as always, with a few exceptions she was certain no one noticed but her. Green and silver tie crooked, shirt slightly rumpled, and a moments inspection proved there were in fact bags beneath those silver eyes. Not as repulsive as her own, but present none the less. At least she wasn't the only one having trouble sleeping.

However, this was not the only difference in the demeanor of Draco Malfoy. Today, when he noticed her gawking at him as he so often did, he would look back. Not long, not enough to arouse suspicion, but it was an acknowledgment. 'I see you, too.' Ceres could swear each time, no less that eleven by the end of class, she saw the faint beginnings of a smile too. A certain potions master was glaring in the area beyond.

The Gryffindor got back to work. Today's potion, some sort of magical smelling salt, was not without difficulty. Still, by the end of class, the witch was pleased to see her sample was an identical shade of orange as the Professor's prized student. Severus Snape looked livid, but Ceres merely smiled back, turning on sneaker covered heel, and began towards Herbology. She never did notice Draco getting held back by his head of House, didn't see the flash of fear on the young boy's face as he was sought for questioning at this unlikely hour of the day.

She hadn't thought about him once all day, a new record, until his voice abruptly called to her from the across the sprawling lawn. Dazed and confused first years practiced passing a Quaffle as their not-old-enough Flying Instructor sprinted over the wet grass to the equally confused fifth year girl. It wasn't far, and the man was in shape. He reached her quickly.

"Do you have a minute?"

Blue-green eyes glanced up to the now filling fog-encased green house.

"I think I have one to spare, what's up?"

"Well, I was thinking, I know you have detention with Umbridge every evening now, but perhaps I could get you up to speed this weekend in the afternoon, say around 4'o clock?"

The last thing she needed was one more responsibility on her shoulders. But the weightless feeling of flying drove through her mind like a blissful dream, and Ceres found herself saying yes, she would love to, very very much. Wood's dimples took on a reddish tint, and the girl knew she had gone too far. She hurried off to class without another word. The snitch-shaped watch was burning a hole in her pocket.

Ceres was late for class. Not enough to miss anything of merit, but enough so that Hermione was taken. And as it turned out, Amy had a _lot_ of questions for her. The American fought to copy notes, take in Draco's peeved appearance, and answer Ms. Costova less than truthfully all at once.s

"When did you get in last night?"

"I dunno, late."

_**Fanged Geraniums should be handled with care. They are-**_

_Does Draco look more pissy than usual, or is that just the usual scowl?_

"Well where _were_ you?"

"Swimming. Had to be careful getting back, took awhile."

_**-picky creatures whose water should be added in exact measurements-**_

_Maybe Pansy was being particularly clingy, the spoiled twat._

"I didn't even see you at breakfast"

_**-They will be quick to let you know wrong by a sharp bite from their fortunately non-venomous fangs.**_

_I wonder if he ever liked her. She's way too pugly for him-_

"I wasn't feeling well, so the twins fixed me up," the young witch spoke, clearly enough that she knew Draco would hear her. The Slytherin Prince seemed to soften, but not by much. What else had she done to piss him off again?

"Now," Professor Sprout began, "we need to be very careful dead-heading today class, don't forget-"

Caution and care, they had no pain tolerance, yea, Ceres remembered from last night's reading. But what she _wanted_ to know was what had she done to put that look on Draco's normally handsome face—

"Son of a!"

The entire class stopped to stare as red fluid poured from the half-moon shaped cut in Ceres' hand. She was bleeding. She was hurt. She had been bitten by a frigging plant. Pain cleared the mental fog, and the force of the realization nearly knocked the witch off her feet.

Oliver.

"Ms. Genavieve has been neglecting her gloves. You'd do well to learn from her example Malfoy."

The young red-head was glad she wasn't alone in her apparent mental absence. The wound wasn't deep. Pretending not to notice the look of concern in those silver eyes, the girl simply pulled on her dragon hide and set to work, gently removing the shriveled blossoms while her thoughts raced faster than a niffler on E.

Draco and Oliver were fighting over her. Draco claimed to have feelings for her, Oliver appeared to. Could it be the gentle Hogwarts graduate of her own House was the true deceptor here? No, that couldn't be it. That's what Slytherins did, Gryffindors were grave and true and all such semi-foolish white-knighty things. But the twins could scheme with the best of them. Did that make her a house-ist?

Ugg! The American had to physically fight the urge to pull gloved hands through surely-mused carmine hair. This train of thought was going nowhere, except off a cliff, into a river, possibly filled with dynamite. She had all the answers she was going to get until tonight. Draco was bitchy because she talked, happily, to his Order of the Phoenix rival. That was all. End of story. Right?

Ceres Genavieve immediately stripped off her gloves and fled the scene before any of her classmates could even get to their bags. Amy was still inside, and that was fine by her. She didn't need anyone else questioning her right now, her mind was noisy enough all on its own today. Lunch was attended to out of necessity, not enjoyment. Stealing away from her classmate's barrage, Ceres was able to squeeze in between Neville and Seamus. She managed to smile and nod her way through a discussion of fire whiskey and its probable effects on Quidditch. They didn't pay her much mind, much.

"Ceres, are you alright?"

Oh god, did they catch her looking at Draco? Maybe she was thinking out loud? Why was her hand wet, did she spill—

Her hand was still bleeding. A white napkin knotted around it was enough for her, she assured them, there was no need to visit the hospital wing for a little scratch.

Satisfied to have gotten down an entire plate of food, Ceres slipped away to History of Magic just as Ginny was coming over to claim Lee Jordan's now vacated space. The American had no idea what the youngest Weasley wanted with her, but she was certain she would know it soon enough. Just as certainly as she knew that two sets of eyes were glued to her exit, the silver pair that had become so familiar, and the hazel orbs she longed to keep at bay.

However, the newcomer was beginning to completely understand the level of power Professor Binns seemed to hold over his students. Despite this mornings coffee, the girls sudden determination to cling to class work and avoid thoughts of a certain pureblood Slytherin, the young witch found herself quickly succumbing to the monotonous tones of the specter's voice. Within a minute, Ceres Genavieve got her wish, and stopped thinking altogether. Unconsciousness had never been such a welcome relief.

~*~

It wasn't dark. Strange, nefarious dealings were always told of under the shroud of darkness, but there was truly no rest for the wicked. The structure of the place was not abandoned, but looked warm and full of live. Family photographs in mismatching frames were crammed onto the fireplace mantle. Trophy's for everything from chess tournaments to youth football leagues. A chair too tall to see its occupant sat before a vacant fireplace, high-noon-sunlight streaming in from a clean window framed by pink floral curtains. Whoever it was made no cause for alarm when green flames filled the stone, quickly taking on a head of filthy dark hair, a rather protruding nose, and a pair of distrusting black eyes.

"You wanted to see me on such short notice?"

"Yes Severus. I wasn't aware I required a formal invitation, but if now is a bd time I can drop by your office tonight, sometime after 7 perhaps?"

The sarcasm would have been lost on anyone other.

"My apologies my Lord. What would you like to know?"

"Draco Malfoy—"

"Is progressing along with Ceres at an astonishing rate. The girl must not be as clever as my colleagues have been led to believe. He has developed a simple but clever plan to gain her trust this evening, and will continue to lure her into the darkness as time progresses."

"Be that as it may, the boy is still a liability. Keep an eye on the pair Severus, I'll be expecting updates on a regular basis."

Translation- I will be dropping in unexpectedly on a regular basis. Be prepared.

"As you wish, my Lord. May I be allowed to return to my daily activities?"

"You may," and with a burst of green sparks the meeting was adjourned without another word, save for the Dark Lord's gentle summoning of his faithful pet Nagini.

He may have been the ruler of darkness, but he was owned by the ruler of Chaos, a completely different breed of magic altogether, and said wizard would want this report right away. Together the pair left the house in companionable silence, the elder man taking care not to trip over the three lifeless bodies on his way out the front door.

* * *

_A/N~ Hello you all! Sorry its been so long. Try publishing a novel, keeping your grades, having a social life, and finding time for sleep and this and other such extra-curricular activities. The next chapter is already written out, I just need to type it. I know its been forever, but pleas please leave me a review. Not sure if I'll post the next part without it. And yes, it does include the astronomy tower, so R&R!!! PLEASE! Much love to you all..._


	15. The Evidence

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 1.

* * *

**Behind the Crimson Door**  
Chapter Fifteen: The Evidence

_For the truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.  
~Lord Byron_

_~*~  
_

The definitely not-a-Weasley red-headed woman awoke with a start. Death. Someone somewhere was recently passed, multiple someone's, and not by accident either.

It was _him._ He was killing again. By the pained expression on Harry's face, he knew it too. Green eyes met ocean blue, and narrowed decisively. Shit. He must have heard what the two men were talking about. Ceres hadn't gleaned as much, but by the fiercely determined glare in black-haired-boy's eyes, it involved her.

Umbridge was hovering just outside the door. Where the hell had she come from?

"Later," the girl told the Chosen One, who could only nod in reply.

Ceres was determined to focus in her final class of the day, having paid little to no attention in the others. Instantaneously a groan of frustration slipped from pale lips at the realization that said class was the heavily loathed Divination. And today was note heavy, all on the symbolic-cosmic importances of planetary alignments, which the poor American did not understand a single lick of. The only use she had ever seen them take on was empowering certain rituals. She had taken astronomy, mapped Jupiter's position in the sky, and not once had its place affected her in any shape or form. It certainly didn't bring great loss, hell it was gone when her parents disappeared.

Did the girl mention there was no chalkboard before in her previous session of this class? Well, there wasn't. The students were expected to follow along and dutifully scribe like college students in lecture halls. Except instead of a certified professor, they were dictating the vary rants and ravings of the probably-not-at-all-psychic Professor Trewlaney for nearly two hours. Ceres hands were stained over half way black by the time she sat down for dinner surrounded by Amy and Ginny Weasley. The contrast only made her skin seem all the more pale, and she hoped it was always that color.

The two girls were chatting over her about Quidditch try outs to come, and the young witch was happy to eat in companionable silence. When it came time for detention, the Gryffindor girl bid her fellows good night with a disarming smile, assuring her house mates she was perfectly alright. Harry didn't seem to notice, so the girl fled before the boy came to his sense. Ceres could feel the duality of heat that was her two admirers on her back until the doors of the Great Hall eased shut behind her.

Not a single moment was wasted in finding Umbridge's office tonight. The sooner Ceres was finished her nights torture, the faster she could get to Draco, and her heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of it. The defiant witch opened the door with terror in her blood. Not for the pain to come, or the answers to follow, but the foreign feelings roaring to rebellious life inside her.

There was no need for words between the twisted teacher and the curious girl, she to work without a second thought on the toad-like woman. Instead of speed of scribing, Ceres chose to dig the quill as hard as possible. Each new line threatened to rip the parchment in two, and the searing lacerations seemed to burn her skin rather than simply carve the flesh.

_Don't think about it. Just focus on something else. Anything else._

Draco Malfoy. The way he spoke when they were alone, his entire demeanor seemed to change like the flick of a light switch. Ass hole; off. It was a tribute to the so-called Slytherin Sex God, Ceres realized, that one could look so irresistible in something as unflattering as heavy black robes. Then she thought about what he may look like without the robes, and all logical thought stopped entirely. What was she doing again? Lines, yes, self mutilation. Punishment at its finest. The quill dug into yellowing paper, into skin, and a new thought came with the fresh flow of blood.

_What if it's a trap?_

That was a new one, she deliberated, we hadn't once thought of that. What if she got there only to be surrounded by Death Eaters? Or Voldemort? Or this Chaos Lord, whoever the hell that was?

_At least if it's another demon I can just shove it off the tower. Comforting thing that. Unless it has wings. Though not many seemed to, oddly enough. Dis didn't have a need to readily get from point A to point B when it was all the same hell._

It didn't take long for the blood to cover her hand, and she was glad she had pocketed the red Gryffindor napkin upon entry. It looked like she was wearing a liquid fingerless glove of screaming scarlet, and when the Bitch Queen from Hell instructed her to stop, the wound did not heal. Not in the least.

The pugly woman wiped it clean with a pink damp cloth of something that burned profusely. Fresh blood immediately welled to the surface, forming the words 'I must not tell lies' it that same too-bright-crimson-flow. The older woman smiled at the sight with the same look of satisfaction cats get at devouring small birds. Ceres fought to keep the horror from her face.

"Excellent work Genavieve, I think the message has sinked in quite nicely, don't you agree?" She chirped in that sickly-sweet, sing-song voice that always implied one was not right in the head. Unable to speak, the stubborn girl managed a terse nod instead.

"So glad you agree. You're free to go. Disturb my class again, and you can be certain you will not receive such fair treatment. Off to bed now."

_Fair? _

_FAIR?!_

Ceres Genavieve left the peptobismaul room before she did something sure to get her _expelled. _Draco was not yet there. Was she early or late? A glance at an all-too-familiar pocket watch confirmed it was not the latter. At 7:45, she had barely been inside an hour. Left hand still bleeding profusely, she began the long hike to the Astronomy Tower, tying it again with the napkin along the way. Horrifyingly, it bled through, and dried blood was never red. He would see. Shit. Gears whirring to life, her mind started going through its mental inventory of ways to cover the wound. Glamours didn't touch it, beauty spells reflected, illusions shimmered into nothingness. A spare bit of healing brew did nothing to alleviate even a hint of the burning affliction.

As a last resort she made a quick stop at the 5th floor girls bathroom. Wrapping the wound in paper towels, she rinsed the napkin, dried it with a simple spell, and reapplied it over everything. Like a very large bandage. The bite mark lingered on the palm of the same hand; barely a scar. If all else failed she would simply tell him it reopened in detention, it was nothing serious. Nothing at all to worry about. Just a torturing scar Ceres would carry the rest of her life.

"Ceres,"

Turquoise eyes found the Prefect standing on the next landing up, obviously on his way to receive her from Dolores. But what was he doing up there before hand? Was he lighting candles? Setting out rose petals? Summoning Death Eaters to take her out? They all seemed equally plausible from the man who wrote romantic poetry while serving Lord Voldemort.

Despite her misgivings, Ceres climbed the few steps separating them. Foolish as it was, she would risk all of the above and then some for one more kiss.

"Yea, Umbridge let me out early. For good behavior."

Silver eyes narrowed, looking all too like his protagonist counter-part. Except he was much less polite.

"Liar."

"Maybe, but she did let me out early."

He smiled then. Not his 'wealthier-than-thou; sneer, but a simple grin of amusement. The girl's deceptive behavior was all too familiar, and Draco Malfoy wondered if the girl had been mis-sorted.

"Let's talk somewhere private, shall we?"

The astronomy tower was _the_ highest point of Hogwarts castle, so walking there was neither quick or easy. The time seemed to steal away though, in a wave of furitive, heated glances, racing hearts, and quickening minds. The red pounding thing in Ceres' own chest seemed to double in time when they stepped outside onto the viewing area. The moon was bright, the air a chilly fall night. And they were well and truly alone, no Death Eaters, no demons, just him. And the Gryffindor didn't know which was more terrifying, betrayal, or the truth.

"So," the girl began, "talk. What's your so-called proof?"

The blonde stepped towards her, closing the distance between them. Ceres didn't like it. How the hell was she supposed to concentrate on interrogating Draco Malfoy with him standing only inches away looking all tense and delectable?

"This," he replied coolly, removing a tiny glass vial of some clear and aqueous liquid from the pocket of his robes. "Do you know what this?" he asked, staring directly into her wide turquoise eyes.

"Veritaserum. But that's Snape's private stores you can't just steal it he's gonna know—"

One look from those scorching mercury eyes quelched the American's rambling.

"Sorry, what am I saying? You're the Slytherin Prince in league with Lord Voldemort, of course Snape just forked it over."

"I never said I was working for him."

"Well you never denied it either."

He didn't know how to answer that, not yet, so he changed the subject.

"You'll have fifteen minutes, twenty on the outside, to ask those _nagging_ little questions of yours. Are you prepared?"

Petite, porcelain shoulders shrugged,

"I am as ready as I'm ever going to be."

Draco downed the potion in one anti-climatic gulp. She couldn't wait, the first question bursts from her mouth.

"Do you have feelings for me?"

"Yes."

The young witches' heart nearly skipped a beat. But it didn't tell her enough.

"To what extent?"

"I'm fascinated by you. You infuriate me with how much you attract me. Like is not nearly a strong enough word.

Ceres had a feeling she didn't want to hear what was, so she pressed on.

"But _why_ the _hell_ do you find me of all people attractive? By your family's standards you should despise me. Hell by Malfoy law I shouldn't even be worthy _of_ despising."

"Your boldness. There is an arrogance to you, a devil-may-care-what-others-think arrogance that you uphold yourself with. Potter even knows when to back down. Either you don't, or you simply don't give a damn. And yet, despite all of this you _do_ care. Not for the thoughts of everyone else, but you care for the people themselves, even me. And the man that you see in Potions class, the one who glares from across the Great Hall; that is the one my father spun from ignorant lies and dim views of the world. That is the Malfoy way, it isn't mine."

"And what is the _Draco_ way?"

He sighed, growing exhausted as if he had spent the day taking standardized tests.

"I don't know."

"Then how can you know what you even want if you don't know who you are?"

The pureblood lost it. In a single violent movement he catapulted the empty glass vial into the stone battlements, shattering into a thousand pieces. His patience broke along with it, lay scattered among the minuscule, shining fragments.

"I know that I care about you. I know that I will do anything to make you happy, and keep you safe. I know that what I feel for you is more than want or desire. And I know you must feel at least a _fraction_ of the same for me because nothing this intense can be felt by one soul alone, it would explode!"

The interrogation was over in a meeting of lips and hearts, parting only for air. Ceres wrapped her arms around him and pulled his tense form so close that ever part of the other was touching in some manner of form. She didn't know what to say, but surprisingly enough, Draco did.

"I want to find myself with you."

"But what happens when you leave me?"

"Well, I have this brilliant plan, ingenious really, that involves never leaving you," he smiled, "It's practically fool proof."

At that point the girl was pretty sure her heart had stopped beating. Her silence was not unnoticed, and she could hear the nervous tension in his voice.

"Are you ok with that?"

"I…I'm not sure. I need to know you first."

Draco pulled away, and the look in those platinum eyes was nearly Ceres' undoing.

"Than know me you will. We can talk on the way to your House. But first, can I steal just one more—"

The witch from New England didn't leave him time to finish, when it came to kissing Draco Malfoy there was not one moment that could be wasted on anything other. He had a way about him, from the gentle press of those soft lips to the demanding movement of his tongue against hers. The Slytherin Prince was not one to be denied, and he risked everything with this rendezvous anticipating just that. But this girl had stayed, and in that moment Ceres Genavieve was no longer just _the _girl. She was _his_ girl. The thought of it made something inside feel weightless and faint.

He laughed when they broke apart, and the smile he showed her was like a glimpse of light after an endless dark.

"I'll take that as a yes,"

The young witch nodded, at a loss for words, her cheeks now matching the color of her hair.

"Come on, I believe you have Potions homework to do. I'll explain anything else you would like to know along the way."

They had barely reached the top of the Astronomy Tower steps when she asked,

"Exactly how long does it take to get your hair looking like that every single morning?"

"Only ten minutes. I've had lots of practice."

Ceres laughed, and grasped his cold hand when he moved it beside hers. The remaining scarred limb was concealed in her pocket. Potions essay? What Potions Essay?

* * *

_A/N~ Again, life is strange and does contain nearly enough hours in a day. Someone make me a 25th and I will update this more often. R&Ring helps too, so please REVIEW. Guilt trips are encouraged too. Much love to all my wonderful and amazing readers, you keep this story alive!!!_


	16. Enjoy The Silence

**Disclaimer:** see Chapter 1. Lyrics= Depeche Mode- Enjoy the Silence

* * *

**Behind The Crimson Door**  
Chapter Sixteen: Enjoy the Silence

_Words like violence__  
Break the silence__  
Come crashing in__  
Into my little world__  
Painful to me__  
Pierce right through me  
__Can't you understand  
Oh my little girl  
~*~_

There was one question Ceres had forgotten to ask in those seventeen and a half minutes. No, not forgotten; neglected. It nagged at her now as they began their descent to the bottom of the tower, from which they would head to the East where her own Common Room awaited her. Draco was in the midst of his very adorable boyish rant on Quidditch when he noticed her distress. He stopped at the next step and looked intently into those far-away aquamarine eyes.

"What's wrong? You're very quiet all of a sudden."

"Sorry, Quidditch isn't exactly my area of expertise."

"Yes, but you're very unquiet, he whispered, brushing his cold hand delicately against her forehead to brush the deep mahogany strands from the young witches face, "in here. What are you thinking about?"

Ceres shook her head sharply, the red-brown veil falling stubbornly back into place. The pureblood frowned when she spoke.

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't know if I can handle the answer."

His frown deepened, slowly turning into a scowl.

"I'm sorry, look, just forget I mentioned it ok? If you want I'll just see myself to bed and we can talk tomorrow. It is the weekend after all. Unless you Brits have some weird Saturday classes thing I'm not aware of – "

"Stop. Ceres, you need to stop hiding from yourself, and from me. If you can't handle it, maybe," he stopped, pausing as if the words physically pained him, "maybe this shouldn't happen at all."

And she knew the words had pained him then, because they were hurting her too. But why? Why did she care? He was Draco Malfoy, brat Prince of Slytherin House, asshole extraordinaire, loyal Death Eater and hater of all things not obscenely rich and pureblooded. Why the hell did she have to be with _him_ of all the damned students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?

She looked at him, looked with the second sight of metaphysics and magic, and there was the answer. Their auras, red tinged with black, were the same. They were the same, in many ways. Ceres had done bad things, unwittingly of course, but done just the same. She had consorted with demons and experimented with the Dark Arts, done things she could never tell the friends she had now. Her fellow Gryffindors would never speak to her again if they knew.

But Draco Malfoy did, he knew it all, every disgusting detail, and he liked her still. More than liked, as he had put it. He couldn't be ashamed of her, because he was going through the very same thing. He knew things were not always black and white, cut clearly, or ever fair. He _understood_. It wasn't a matter of "why him?" It was a matter of "why not?" And for that, she could face his faults too. She had to. He was the only one who truly understood her, and Ceres would never live it down if she threw all away out of something as stupid and childish as being afraid.

"Are you working for Lord Voldemort?" and it was odd, saying his name aloud in front of a wizard that didn't look terrified, he looked defeated.

"Yes—but you have you to understand Ceri that it is _not_ my choice. Working for the Death Eaters, it's my father's way, his decision. But if I don't…I'm fairly certain he'd kill me."

"That's nonsense! You're his son!"

"And Voldemort is his Lord and Master! He will do whatever it takes to see that snakes plan through to the end. If I'm not with him, I'm against him. He won't see me as a neutral party; just another problem to be taken out. I don't want to harm muggles or anyone else, I don't care for any of it, but I don't want to die either, all right? And if that makes me terrible, so be it."

"It doesn't…you're not a bad person, Draco, at least not for that," she spoke softly, covering his cool hand with her own warm one, careful to use the one that wasn't still bleeding. "It makes you a human being, just like the rest of us."

"Then," he spoke, his voice soft and careful as if the air itself was a fragile thing ready to break at any moment, "you'll still have me?"

The girl had never seen any guy look so vulnerable and shattered in all her life, she was more comfortable with fighting or violence. But this? She couldn't speak, couldn't move, and barely had the ability to breath. Her mind was utterly and completely dumbstruck, cause, honestly, what the hell do you say to that that actually sums up the feeling of bats in her stomach and that insanely insistent desire to be within inches of his presence at all times? What words were there?

_Screw words._

She grabbed him roughly by the collar, and kissed him. It wasn't graceful, and it probably wasn't the most romantic, but it was all she could think of, all she could think about. She kissed him with every ounce of feeling she had, and he responded in kind as soon as the seconds of shock wore off. It was explosive. Ceres never thought a simple kiss could be so…violent..but in a good way. And when they broke apart she had to grip the icy wall behind her to keep from falling. Draco was overjoyed.

"God, I love it when you do that."

The red-head shrugged, trying to look nonchalant as she simultaneously fought to catch her breath. As if she kissed enemies of her house any day, or boys at all for that matter. The men at her high school had always been too terrified to even go near her. Yet here she was, kissing the so proclaimed "Sex God" of her school. Oh how the times had changed.

"I'm sure you'll get bored of it eventually."

Light grey shifted to a thunderstorm darkness, and he was suddenly above her, beside her, all around her. He caught her lips with his own and kissed her hard enough to bruise before whispering in her ear the same final word that had concluded their first encounter-

"Never."

The Common Room, as it turned out, was anything but empty, and Ceres had to fight every instinct no to turn around and make sure her Slytherin boyfriend (it sounded beyond strange) was out of sight, though she knew he was halfway to the 5th floor by now. She felt like a traitor in a house of loyalists, and it wasn't a nice feeling either.

Platters of stolen food were surrounded by her fellow Gryffindors, who quickly explained to the new comer that this was the First Party, thrown every year after the first week of class for as long as Fred and George had been here. Ceres declined Fred's offer of fire whiskey, explaining that she was on the verge of collapse when the weight of green eyes feel on her from the boys' dormitory, and it wasn't the heated stares she had almost grown accustomed too, but an icy glare of silent fury. They had to talk, and it was better to just get it out of the way now before it festered any longer. She took the stairs up and stepped inside after him.

"You wanted to talk?" she asked the boy, who seemed to glare off into the distance.

"What did you hear?"

Quick to the chase, that was a new one for Potter. She wanted to sleep, if she could, so she followed suit.

"I didn't, it was like the reception was shitty or something. I saw Snape's head in a fireplace talking to Voldemort, but I didn't get any words, just a lot of jumbled up whispers. Then I saw the three bodies and I woke up, just like you."

Harry lunged, violently, without a moment for Ceres to react. One arm had her neck pinned to a solid oak post, the other held his wand at her throat."

"What are you up to Genavieve?"

"Getting detention for saving your ungrateful ass. What the _hell_ is your issue?"

"How did you see it? Voldemort?"

"You mean how did I see the same thing you did?"

"Yea."

"I don't know. I've had them since I was little. I've always written them off as déjà-vu, but they're not. They're visions, premonitions I guess. Why? How do _you_ see them? You don't strike me as a psychic."

"That's _my_ business."

"Oh, ok, and everything about me, all of my thoughts and shit, that's your business too?"

He said nothing, but he didn't loosen his grip either, and Ceres was damn tired of it. With a thought a flick of a finger the Golden Boy was thrown back to the floor in a heap of tangled limbs. She didn't bother helping him up either.

"Listen up Harry, this 'us or them' business needs to stop. I don't if you've heard, but America hasn't been part of the British Empire in a long ass time. You can't just throttle me to go your way. I will do as I damn well please. I have free will and I plan to make use of it as long as I'm breathing.

"I've tried to be your friend damnit. I even saved your ass from Umbridge. Now I've got her detentions _and_ you riding my ass. I want to be your friend Harry. Really, I do. Whatever big bad secret your hiding, cause I'm certain that's what's got you in this state of douche bag, it's probably not as horrifying as you think.

"You need to open up to someone, and soon, or you're not going to have any friends left. Either tell them what bugs crawled up your ass, and possibly lose them, or bottle up and they'll be gone forever. You're fucked either way. Tell them, let them deal, and get the fuck over it. When you've reached this thing called common sense again, let me know. I'll be here. But you lay a hand on me one more time, I promise you will regret it."

Ceres left him there, lying on the floor, capable of moving of course. The spell wasn't a paralytic, just a simple blow of force to get herself out of his hold. She was grateful to find her own dorm blissfully unoccupied by anyone conscious. The few girls that were asleep, Hermione and Amy, were happily asleep, and though Ceres was dead on her feet, she didn't possibly know how sleep was going to come anytime soon.

Her mind was racing at a million miles a minute, even as changed into her night clothes and tucked herself in.

_What the hell do you think you're doing?_

Good question. Apparently she was dating a Death Eater, counseling the Boy Who Lived, taking lessons from (and totally not flirting with) an agent of the Order of the Phoenix, getting attacked by demons from Goddess knew who, and pissing off the one woman that could be Hogwarts undoing. It was not the quiet, book-heavy path she had projected for herself. It was dangerous, destructive, and sooner or later bound to put her right in the spot light. What the fuck _was_ she thinking?

She needed help, advice, someone she could trust without her insides going all batty. She needed to talk to someone before all the things running around in her head spewed out of her at a random time not-of-her-choosing. And with the way they were multiplying lately, she wouldn't have much time left.

Hogwarts, A History was covered on her bedside table by her own copy of Metaphysics & Magic: Where The Line Begins To Blur. Yes. Desmond. Tomorrow. She would see him tomorrow. He would know what to do.

Goddess willing.

* * *

_A/N~ So in addition to having an actual healthy relationship, I now have two jobs and often find myself in places with no internet OR cell service (yes, they still exist) so I will TRY to update this IF you R&R. Otherwise, I don't know that anyone still cares enough for me to update. So LEAVE ME A REVIEW! -Sia_


	17. Blackout

**Disclaimer:** see Chapter 1. Lyrics= Shiny Toy Guns- Stripped

* * *

**Behind The Crimson Door**  
Chapter Seventeen: Blackout

_Come With me_  
_Into The tree's_  
_We'll lay on the grass_  
_And let the hours pass..._  
_Let me see you_  
_Stripped Down to the bone_  
_Let me Hear you_  
_Crying just for me_  
_~*~_

Getting out of bed was easy, shaking Amelia off was not. The girl was on her heels from breakfast to her current journey towards the outside. She had a lot of questions, and Ceres was fresh out of answers. Ms. Costova pulled the witch out of the main hallway in the shadows between two columns.

"I know its got something to do with Malfoy. I know you're being attacked by demons from Merlin knows who, and there's a real good chance the two are connected but you're just too stubborn to see it."

"Then why would Dra"—Ceres hissed, stumbling over the name "—why would Malfoy send a demon after me, only to try and save me from it?"

The witches eyes looked ready to bulge from her skull if they grew any larger.

"He WHAT?"

"Keep your freaking voice down," the red-head snapped, trying to drag her further from the crowd. She wasn't angry with Amy though, rather with herself, as she very often was. For once again she was screwing up. Fortunately, the confused girl was seeing her mistake now for just that and knew now how to remedy it. She had to open up. This was it, that moment. This was the test—friendship or failure; companion or enemy. And every day she put it off was another 24 hours for the witches chatty mind to concoct another theory. It couldn't wait any longer.

"Look, I can't discuss it here and now. There's an abandoned classroom on the 8th floor corridor, near Charms. Meet me there after dinner and I'll tell you everything."

The exact definition of everything was still up for question. Ceres was quick to lose herself into another crowd of first years going out to enjoy the weather before the other girl could follow.

Ceres Genevieve couldn't just write a letter via owl post to Desmond. Brigid could only fly so far, and the man could be in Antartica for all she knew (he did love to travel so). Not to mention there was a damn good chance the mail was being watched, and the last thing she needed was Umbridge to have any more power over her than she already had. The thought sickened her, and she was forced to shove it away and focus on the task at hand.

Not a single student or staff member batted an eyelash at the young red-head's very not-covert entry into the so-called Forbidden Forest. Seriously, shouldn't there be more security? Maybe there didn't need to be, maybe it was just that fucking scary. So far all she had seen was a few stray squirrels and a lot of very, very old trees. Oh, the horror. She knew she was far enough when her iPod finally turned on. Another three steps for insurance the innovative American began the setup.

Her idea operated on the basic theory that all things were constructed of energy. The four quartz crystals on each of the cardinal directions would capture this energy. The laptop would be smudged with Dragon's Blood incense, an attractant mostly used for love spells. However, its base purpose was to draw in energy for spell work, not just lust alone. Ceres discovered this years ago when spilling the oil form on her athame sliced a door in half.

In the same way, it would draw in the energy to the device, boosting the signal, and allowing her access to the great magical world wide web. Pan, the God of Air, willing.

She still almost died of shock when it actually. She expected it to do nothing, or maybe blow up her computer. She didn't expect this, or to be gleefully shouting:

"I have created the internet! Take THAT physics!"

Sadly, the battery on her Toshiba laptop would not last forever, so there was little time to celebrate this feat of magic vs science. Ceres did not waste a second getting into her mail and onto Pidgin, the girls instant messenger of choice. There was no logging into a Myspace or Livejournal, she found them silly and pointless. As usual, no one she wanted to talk to was on. Pale hands still flew over the keyboard in a blur of speed as she wrote a lengthy email to her less than human companion.

_Desmond-_

_ I need your help. They're back and I don't know who else to turn to. I got a letter from a freaking Chaos Lord that said only Soon. He/She/scary fucker of little words. Apparently you're not the only thing that aint dead but should be. _

_ And yea, its worse than just that. I've fallen for a Death Eater and I just…I need your help Des. Please. Write to med as soon as you get this, the way I showed you. I think the mails being searched._

_ Missing you,_

_-Ceri_

The screen flashed "sent", and it made the girl wonder how the heck Draco was going to keep in touch with her. They had never really talked about it, making it now instant fodder for her questioning mind.

_Why didn't he bring it up?_

He was distracted. I doubt either of us were concerned much with the outside world last night.

_Maybe because he doesn't plan on needing to._

He said he had feelings for me under the influence of the most powerful truth potion there is! What more do you want?

The screen went black, and not because of power loss. The crystals had stopped glowing, the spell was broken. Had she broken concentration too long?

"Sorry, were you in the middle of something?"

Draco was standing there, looking fairly confused, and the witch had to retract her statement. All of the crystals had stopped glowing, except one. The one behind her. It was growing with light, and beginning to quake violently between them. Oh, shit. Just beyond the gorgeous Slytherin was a rock half her size; it would have to do.

"Move!"

Malfoy all too calmly stepped aside while Ceres frantically hurled the crystal against the block of stone, where it shattered into a million tiny glass shards. But the energy did not disperse, it flew back in a glowing ball of light the size of a quaffle and slammed straight into the witch's chest, knocking her onto the forest floor. It was beautiful, effervescent, addiction running into her veins and pouring into every fiber of her body. It was one of the greatest things she had ever felt, better than flying, and it was going to destroy her from the inside out.

Draco was kneeling next to her, shaking her body as it was beginning to levitate off the ground of its own accord. Shit. That couldn't be good. She looked at the young man's face, and it was terrified. Facing demons didn't phase him, but this struck him to the bone.

"Draco, I need you to listen. Push me to the ground, and when I say go, run and get cover. As far as you can."

"Ceres, what in Merlin's name-"

"I can't explain, just trust me, and don't hold back."

He did, putting all of his weight on top of her to keep her from literally floating away, and it wasn't easy to ignore the heat between them. The Gryffindor buried her hands in the decaying leaves and dirt, one hand finding hold of a young root. It would have to do.

"Go!"

He went without hesitation, and she was glad, because the bliss had quickly turned into agony as the ethereal magic she had summoned waged war with the internal magic already inside of her. She had to connect, it had to be set free, or it would make its own way out.

Finally, as she truly began to grow blind in pain, it clicked into place with a resounding ringing. Black spots decorated her vision, and hearing was lost by the ringing of her ears, as if she had stood inches from a shotgun blast. Distantly, she could hear him calling her name. He was actually just inches away.

Everything hurt, and still she tried to move. Try being the operative word. Her body didn't give a shit. It was taking a break from this thing called living whether Ceres Genavieve liked it or not. Someone had taken her hand as the limb went limp and the girl was for all purpose dead to the world.

* * *

_A/N~ I currently own one useless laptop and one pitiful immune system. As I write this I'm heavily medicated and still in pain. I am "infected", and yes, I do feel the urge to dress up Shilo in hopes my Graverobber will appear. Sorry for the shortness of this portion. I will try and update soon as I can. Reviews help a LOT, so R&R! Many thanks and love to those who have already done so ~Sia  
_


	18. The Aftermath

**Disclaimer: **see Chapter 1. Lyrics used are Montreal by Charo Sofia.**  


* * *

**

**Behind the Crimson Door**  
Chapter Eighteen: The Aftermath

_You play the role of nonchalance_  
_Forgetting the lines as you go_  
_Producing all your dialogue_  
_To the only phrase that you've come to know__..._  
_I would give you anything, anything at all, if you stay_  
_I'm begging you please, as I fall to my knees, I pray  
~*~_

Ceres was on the ground when she came to, her brain stumbling to put together the what, when, where, why; when his face came into her vision, all silver eyes and platinum blonde hair shining like unicorn blood under the sun. It came back in bits and pieces under the weight of that penetrating gaze.

"Why didn't you take me to the hospital wing?" she mumbled, too stiff to even contemplate movement. Her body no longer agonized, just severely sore, like the morning after a good rock concert.

He spoke at a speed faster than Granger could have ever achieved, fear laced with worry,

"I couldn't think of a story to explain your condition and how I came to find you, otherwise I would have—"

"Its okay Draco, I'm glad you didn't. Seriously. They wouldn't have had a clue how to fix me anyway. I probably would have just lost 50,000 points and gotten a months worth of detention. Really. I owe you one."

Ceres forced herself to sit up, and only then noticed two things. First, the man was holding her, her upper half firmly held to his legs, one had clinging to her own as if it had been willing her to wake up. Second, the fifty square foot range of forest that once surrounded them now looked like a bomb had gone off, which wasn't far from the truth. Not a physical bomb, as nothing was dead or burnt, just, flattened. The energy used was air, so nothing was purposely harmed in its release, just knocked flat to the forest floor.

"Uh…oops?"

"What _was_ that?"

"Energy from the spell," the American stated without alarm, as if identifying a semi-common bird. The Slytherin's grey eyes widened.

"And what book did you get this spell from?"

"Well, it was more of an experiment, an idea if you will-"

"You put this together on your own?" he sounded surprised, and Ceres couldn't honestly imagine why.

"Yeah. So? Isn't that what you do at a school for witchcraft and wizardry?"

"No, Ceres, that's dangerous, you could have-"

"Been killed, I know. So how did you find me again?"

"I heard you yelling – what the hell is the internet?"

"Muggle form of communicating and sharing information, though mostly its just for porn—you want me to stop experimenting? Its what I do—"

"Yes and it could have killed you!"

The girl jumped to her feet.

"Lapper!"

But the computer wasn't harmed in the least, even her iPod was spared. A miracle of itself, the red-head breathed a sigh of relief before turning to her semi-sort-of-boyfriend.

"And you're ok? You're not hurt or anything?"

And that just about did it. Draco snapped, erupting in hysterical laughter that bordered the edge of sanity, tears were edging at the corners of his eyes when he could speak again.

"You can barely stand, and you're worried about _me_?" and at the sight of her perplexed expression added, "I'm fine Ceri, honestly, not even a scratch. But you, you nearly died," he exclaimed, rising to his feet to pull her into his arms. The pureblood held her tight, as if to loose his grip would cause her to float away in the softest breeze, never to return.

"Promise me you won't put yourself in that kind of danger again."

"I don't know you well enough to promise you anything, but I'll try and avoid it if I can."

The boy heaved a sigh of defeat.

"Fair enough."

He finally managed to release her, if only to allow the girl to gather her things. His grey eyes held a strange look about them, and Ceres knew she must look like hell the morning after. Between Harry's bruise, and the scar from Bitch Queen that refused to go away despite her best efforts, her only option was a pale blue turtleneck sweater she brought simply because Uncle Mik insisted, nothing-special-blue jeans, black fingerless gloves, and black suede boots pulled up to her knees.

"Sorry."

"Pardon?"

"I would have worn something nicer if I had known I'd be seeing you today."

Because Goddess and her blessed star children knew he looked too handsome to be legal. In the robes he was a feast for the eyes, in black slacks and a skin tight grey turtleneck he was a sinful desert with chocolate syrup on top. He could have anyone (probably has) and yet he chose her. Why the hell was that?

_Because you're powerful and he's evil. That's how it __**always**__ works._

"Ceres," he spoke, suddenly very close to her, "you are beautiful just as you are," and when he kissed her it was like imploding with fireworks from the inside out.

Oh Goddess.

"What time is it?"

"A little after four, why?" he said, confused, and rightly so.

"Fuck! I have practice with Ol—Professor Wood at 4:30. Fuck my life, I have to go. I'm going to be late! I'm sorry!"

"No, it's ok, I should have told you—" he reached into his pants pocket and handed her a folded up bit of parchment, "- here. Umbridge checks the owl post, this will be safer."

"Why am I work the risk?"

"You're worth the risk because without you I'm nothing but my father's prodigy. You make me think I can be something more, one day," he spoke as he rose to his feet, dusting off his finery before turning towards the castle. As he was beginning to make headway into the forest, he said at the last possible moment:

"And Ceres?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, excited and terrified for whatever it was he had suddenly remembered at the last second, as such realizations were never anything good.

"You don't owe me a thing," and Ceres was glad he couldn't see her blush.

He never said goodbye. He never would.

Ceres was careful to hike to the northeast a ways before heading south to the castle. A wicked looking tree was the next thing to greet her when she cleared the tree line, forcing her to consult the scribble of a mop Ginny had sketched out for the newcomer a few days priors to find her way to the field. The branches seemed to shiver as the witch passed, but it was just the wind, wasn't it?

The time on the snitch-styled-pocketwatch read 4:27, but there was no Oliver waiting for on the green pitch, only a girl with shrewd face and short black hair in a Slytherin uniform. Draco had mentioned her last night, the bitch princess of the snake house, Pansy fucking Perkinson.

This was going to be a _real_ fucking hoot.

* * *

_A/N~ Hey everyone! Its been a long time posting but its good to be back. New apartment (yea, I'm like a grownup now, and stuff) and my amazing roomie got me back on writing this again. So you should kindly thank trixafaerie, and PLEASE R&R! Also- go listen to Charo Sofia. She is amazing. Much light and love to you all for the reads.  
_


	19. The Truth Or Something Like It

**Disclaimer: **See Ch 1. Lyrics= D Is For Dangerous by Allison Iraheta

* * *

**Behind The Crimson Door**  
Chapter Nineteen: The Truth, Or Something Like It

_G for get out of here  
It's really too much  
H is for, how do I leave  
When I'm addicted to your love  
I is for insane  
It smells like danger  
J is for jump off the ship  
Or the storm will take ya  
~*~_

"Ceres Genavieve, I should have known."

"How did you find me here?"

"That was simple. _Flying lessons- 8:00 pm Tuesday/Thursday; 4:30 Saturday. Pitch._ So why is it that Draco Malfoy schedule of an arrogant, American mudblood from Gryffindor?"

Oh Goddess. Who the hell did this girl think she was, the Slytherin Princess? Step 1: attempt evasion.

"I don't know, why don't you go ask him yourself?"

"Maybe I will, after I put you in your rightful place, out of his way."

Step two went right out in the metaphorical window in a fit of hysterical laughter.

"You can't be serious."

"Fatally."

"I play with demons, you ignorant, spoiled bitch. If I were you I'd leave before I do to you what I did to that Illiquara."

"You wouldn't dare."

Ceres did more than dare. She threw the Slytherin witch to the ground with a strong gust of wind. The spell took little more than a thought. Her classes and readings were working very nicely, internal magic was far easier to learn than any Wiccan spell ever was. Her advisories muddy eyes widened.

"I don't know what Draco wants with me, alright? Would you get it through your thick fucking head? This is your last chance. You've got nothing to prove here. The whole school knows I can kick your fucking head in, so save yourself a beating and whatever shred of dignity you might still possess. This is your final warning."

Pansy opened her mouth to spout some hex or another, but the girls wand was out of her hand and into Ceres before she could speak but a word. It didn't stop her from landing a decent punch across the American's jaw.

That she certainly didn't see coming, but the Gryffindor recovered, the blow not even enough to knock her off her feet. It was enough, however, to cut her clean lip clean through. Judging by the blood slowly oozing out of the corner of her mouth, it was fairly deep too. Ceres gave Pansy credit, the girl could hit. She gave her a swift jab to the diaphragm, followed by a kick to her upper chest.

The one two combo has her on the ground gasping for air when Professor Wood came on the scene, stopping the girl from moving any further. Like any good Slytherin she instantly began tearing at her eyes, howling in pain that really wasn't anything to complain about. It certainly was no hippogriff. She doubted the girl even needed a trip to the hospital wing.

"Oh quit whining you little brat, you're fine. Jeeze, I barely touched you."

"Genavieve, Parkinson, what happened here?"

Professor Wood had arrived at last, and he was pissed. More than pissed. He was absolutely livid. Shit. Now she had done it.

"She attacked me!" the dark hair girl cried out, dribbling false tears down her shirt front, turning black from the heavy makeup once there.

"Bullshit. She found out I was meeting you here and freaking ambushed me here, I only defended myself."

"She threatened me! With demons!"

"I did not you catty bitch I said-"

"That's enough! Pansy, 50 points from Slytherin and a night's detention for instigating a fight. Ceres, 20 points from Gryffindor, for letting her set you off. Parkinson, you have no business here. I suggest you leave before Ceres' here gets creative."

The girl left without another word. If she could have leered at her from behind the Professor's back, she would have. Such a thing made Ceres want to give her a black eye, in exchange for the bruise. Then she looked at Oliver, and all thoughts of pummeling the little twat were squelched under the power of his glare.

"She was just acting, honest! I barely touched Pansy!"

He should have been somehow rendered unattractive, but he wasn't. The man was gloriously handsome in his rage, and Ceres wished her hormones would get a day job. Or that perhaps Draco could suddenly appear and distract her, at least they were in the same age group for Goddess's sake.

He moved closer, not speaking, and the silence was driving her mad. What the hell was he going to do with her now?

"It doesn't matter. You're hurt, she gave you a pretty good knock," he chuckled, shaking his head as if to ward of an insect, or something of the sort.

"Professor, I'm sorry, I didn't want to fight," which was a lie on some level. Pansy was a bitch, and worse, a bitch that thought Draco was hers. She had another thing coming.

"Ceres, its not, I'm not angry at you, you did what you had to. Do you need to go to the hospital wing?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you. If you would get the brooms I can take care of it?"

He nodded, promising to be right back, as Ceres swore she wasn't going anywhere. The Professor did indeed hurry, for he was back just as the witch was applying the healing brew to her bleeding lip and bruised jaw.

"Ceres, if you like, I can put in a word with Dumbledore about her."

He would suggest such a thing, it was his job, to watch out for her, and report all findings to the Order of the Pheonix. That's all any of it was to him, right?

"Thank you, but I'd prefer if you didn't. I can hold my own, and I'd rather not be known as the weak kid on the playground."

He sighed deeply, the sound exhausted as he ran a hand through his already tussled brown hair.

"Ceres, you're anything but weak, and you're not just a kid," and he said it with all the seriousness and weight of something else, and the look in his hazel eyes staring back into hers were trying to say a million things more, she could feel it. But what the hell was it?

"Well I'm certainly no adult, I'll admit it, I'm not exactly the queen of maturity and common sense over here," she spoke matter-of-factly, tying her mahogany hair out of her face with a spare tie.

"You're perfectly legal by British law."

Sweet Hecate, Ceres had never even thought of that. It hadn't crossed her mind once since she had left. So why the hell did it go through Oliver's?

"Yes, but I'm not British."

Silence.

"Ceres, I do need to ask, why did Pansy seek you out in the first place?"

Was there any good way to answer this? Could she lie to a Professor? Could she lie to a member of the Order? Was there any reason to?

"Why do you ask?"

"Just in case any of the faculty ask, it would be nice to have an explanation."

No, she didn't. The Professor was doing it enough for her. Everyone was. And she had had enough.

"Bullshit. Give me the truth, and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

"Ceres, you know I can't."

"You won't be telling me anything I don't already know."

He cocked a golden brown eyebrow at her curiously.

"Well, guessed at, same diff. Talk and I will, otherwise its back to the lesson at hand, Professor," and the title had a bite to it today, instead of the forced respect and boundary.

"Okay, fine. But you can't tell anyone, alright? Especially Harry and company, understood?"

"Crystal clear, sir," she said, reminding herself he was just that.

"Okay, I was hired by the Order of the Phoenix to take the post of the Flying Instructor to keep an eye on you and keep you safe. Now would you please answer my question?"

"Pansy just wanted to know what Draco wanted with me."

"Which is?"

"Hell if I know, whats it to you?"

"Whats it to me? Ceres, Draco's father is a Death Eater, he could be on a mission for You Know Who."

"I'm well aware of his family ties. My dad, wherever the hell he is, is a homophobic right-winged jackass of a Christian. Just because they're your family does not mean you have to follow in their footsteps."

Oliver couldn't help himself. Closing the distance between them, Ceres heart raced double time in her chest. It seemed like he was going to kiss her. He reached out to her, gingerly touching the corner of her mouth where the bruises had been only moments before.

"I can't tell you what to do here, strictly speaking, but just be careful, alright? I…I worry about you."

The girl had a strong feeling that _worry_ was not the word he wanted to say, what he probably somewhere needed to say. Goddess, this went beyond his orders, or his mission. That _worry_ ran deeper than she cared to think about, and in turn, it worried her.

Despite the struggles, the emotions, the turmoil one feels inside; life goes on. Whether you like it or not, classes must be taught, lessons must be learned, problems will be solved with or without you. And so the flying lesson carried on. Everything about it from the old broom to his stiff touch was the definition of uncomfortable and an adjective beyond awkward.

Ceres left to dinner with worry creasing her brow. The Professor packed his things with an aura of defeat clouding his mind. He was determined to wear her down, but was it for the purpose of gaining her loyalty to the Order, or something else entirely?

* * *

_A/N~ So its almost 4am as I'm posting this. Why? Because my roommate is sitting next to me looking over my tiny piece o crap netbook demanding I do so. And playing Oliver/Ceres tunes. Cause she's awesome. I hope it doesn't come across as rushed, all typos are the fault of moi and my sleepy brain. PLEASE R&R! Am I also writing professionally/in school for it, so feedback is the stuff I live for. Hope you enjoyed!  
_


	20. The Monsters Are Real

**Disclaimer: **See Ch 1. Lyrics are She Wants Revenge- She Will Always Be A Broken Girl.

* * *

**Behind the Crimson Door**  
Chapter 20: The Monsters Are Real

_On the way she imagines reactions._  
_Cupped hands whispering into ears._  
_Secretly hoping that he'll be there watching…_  
_This might be the time to break down._

Something was very off with Ceres Genavieve. From the plate of untouched of chicken and baked potato to her solemn-lack-of-expression; it was very plain to see. A word hadn't been spoken to anyone, only non-committal noise of what may or may not have been agreement.

In fact, the only thing she had done since entering the Great Hall was scribble a list of sorts on a small note pad of such a size that could easily fit it one's pocket. But it was not the average to-do-list of a witch-in-training at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It instead included such things as:

-Chaos Lord

-D.M.

-go to library- CLPZ7.R684.1864C3

-talk to Amy

-O.W.

-homework- Snapes Essay, Herbology,

And then all of a sudden, the girl clutched her gloved left hand, as if in pain, an added:

-cover 'Lies'

She swared at the clock face of the watch she really needed to stop owning. It was nearly seven, and the library closed at eight. When Amy finally appear the red head wasted no time in packing her things in one graceless motion of sweeping it all into her bag.

"Change of plans," she whispered, just loud enough so the girl could hear her over the din, "Meet me in the library soon as your done if you want to know everything. If I don't see you before eight, I understand, but know this is your _only_ chance. I won't make this offer twice."

The witch left without looking back. She didn't have to see them to know that silver and hazel eyes were upon her. It was basic knowledge, just as she could sense energy in every physical thing, she could feel their draw, their pull. It was the same thing that caused muggles to look over their shoulder in a busy walk way. Ceres kept walking.

The library was practically, the precise reason she chose to wait until the dinner hour. The Gryffindor retrieved the scrap of parchment with Dracos elegantly scrawled code and proceeded to hunt down CL PZ7.R684.1864.C3

It was quite brilliant really. One could assume the note to be ancient, especially if it had not been checked out recently. The particular tome of Draco's choosing was titled "An Accurate and Detailed Collection of Encounters With Giants, Trolls, and Other Mountain Folk" by Christian Lightwood, circa 1864. As the copy was held together by spell-o-tape and a will of its own, it was certainly a book to be avoided.

Ceres pulled it off the shelf with care and thumbed through the pages, many of which were ripped, stained, and otherwise falling out of the spine. She found what she was looking for on page 115.

_I think this to be the safest way for us to keep in touch. Write to me with the call numbers encoded. Nothing obvious we can't risk arousing suspicion._  
_Never doubt my feelings for you. They are as genuine as the air you breathe. You are beautiful. You are extraordinary. You have power over me._  
_Try not to forget it._

It was signed _the Dragon_. She rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but smile either.

"You wanted to see me?"

"I believe it was the other way around, as I recall it."

Amy Costova shrugged, her nearly black curls felling down her back with the movement.

"If you value me as a friend at all, please, tell me what the hell is going on."

Ceres went to the darkest, dustiest corner of the library, reserved for snogging and other dark deeds.

"What I'm about to tell you might freak you out, maybe even hate me. You have every right to. All I ask of you is not to repeat any of it. To anyone. Our lives might depend on it. Can you do that, Amelia?"

She nodded, the American continued.

"I've been seeing someone."

"Sweet Merlin," she hissed, "Not Professor Wood."

"No, though he would like to."

"What?"

"Just shut up and listen. Please."

Ms. Costova did. She hung onto every word as Ceres gutted herself to recall the events of the past week and a half, not skipping a beat.

"That's fucking nuts."

"Yep."

"Too nuts to be made up."

"You have no idea."

Silence echoed between them with the same deafening effect as thunder in a great canyon. Ceres had tears streaking down her face, all her frustrations and fears pouring of her. Amy's own mossy green orbs were glassy, as if they were threatening to break at any second.

"Ahem!"

Madame Hooch was lurking above them on a rolling ladder, shelfing the very book she had just put down, glasses perched on her sharp nose in a condescending glare. "The library is closing ladies, I have to ask you to leave."

"Of course, Madame." Ceres stammered, practically sprinting from the place. Badass witches did not fall apart in public. They fall did apart in the arms of their best friends. Which is exactly what Ceres did. She fell hard, and Amy held her promising it would be alright. That they would figure it out.

If only it were that easy.

xxx

"He's losing ground, isn't he?"

The Dark Lord looked at the younger, kneeling on the ground before him. He did not want to answer that question. But he wanted control of Hogwarts, and so he spoke.

"His reports did not suggest this."

The sorcerer of chaos rose once look thoughtfully at his library, the deadly beauty of their knowledge, their majesty.

"You swore to me Tom, you promised your Master he would not interfere."

"He will not. Nor can I kill the wretch without making the order aware of our plans."

"They do not suspect?"

"No. Only the boy."

"He is not a child Tom, and it would be ill advised to treat him as such."

"But nor is he a man."

"True. It seems to old friend that we are running out of time. I think the moment is upon us," he smiled, plucking a particularly ancient text in language much older than the wizard on the floor. It fell open at precisely the page needed. Not of any spell or will of mind, simply because the dark one had spent many hours reading it over and over again.

"Send the Three."

"Are you sure this is wise? That the witch is ready?"

"If she is the one we require she will survive. If Ceres Genavieve dies, then she it is no matter, for she was simply the wrong witch. Go Tom. Warn your spy that it would be wise to not be caught in the corridors tonight. These monsters might be too much even for him."

Lord Voldemort merely nodded, thanking the man and leaving the room in haste. There was much to do and little time. Severus Snape always did hate late night visitors.

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_A/N~ So I wrote this kinda high on a combo of sick-be-gone meds. I had a fucking blast writing it. I hope you enjoy reading it too. I just got a second job editiing books, so updates won't be all the time, but please R&R. It would mean the world to me, and keep this story alive. Random fact- the call # used is the same for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.  
_


	21. This Is Not Bad Love

**Disclaimer: **see chapter one. Lyrics used- Our Song by Spill Canvas

* * *

**Behind The Crimson Door  
**Chapter 21: This Is Not Bad Love

_Be kind when you rewind the story of the two of us  
Sometimes you wish it was a little more mysterious  
When you look at me with your cinematic eyes  
I wanna play the part but I forget the lines_

_I do it all the time  
I never get it right_

_-x-  
_

_Draco, it might be wise to take the night off_.

The words were echoing in his mind like a portent of some oncoming disaster. He didn't know what was going to happen, his head of house would not speak a word of it. He knew only one thing—find Ceres. Protect her.

He started with the library, but Madame Pince was already closing up for the evening. So the Slytherin Prince traced the most direct route from there to the North Tower. Most Slytherins were void of this knowledge, but weeks of sulking in the shadows, following Ceres every move, had given him keen information; this included.

This wasn't just a crush, he though as he sprinted up the shifting stairs two at a time. This, as much he _loathed_ to admit it, was love. And as Draco Malfoy raced on in his desperate search for the blunt American girl he was not afraid of the consequences, the Dark Lord, or whatever was out there lurking in the shadows. In life, the pureblood now feared one thing and one thing only.

What if she didn't love him back?

"Amy, I can't do this."

The two Gryffindor witches were stopped on the second floor corridor. A petite form topped with dark brown shoulder-length locks that shone scarlet in the wand-light was leaning against a space of cold stone between a portrait of an elderly warlock, and a tapestry about owls. Unsteady, Ceres Genavieve stood there as if she were fighting to keep herself from coming apart at the seams, which was just about right.

She knew opening up to Amy was the right thing to do, there was little doubt about that. But putting herself back together again was proving to be more difficult that either of the girls thought.

"Yes, you can," Amelia reassured her, placing a hand carefully on her friends shoulder. "It will only be for a moment. Then we can go up to bed and you can just sleep it off, like you said. Everything else can be a problem for tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, sure," and though her voice sounded tough, certain, it did not come close to reaching her blue-green eyes.

"You love him, don't you?"

"What? No. I mean, shit. I don't know. He gets me, I love that he gets—"

"Whose there?" a familiar voice barked, and at least one of the girls knew it was mostly for show.

"Just us girls your royal highness," Ceres attempted to sneer, but it came out cracked in place. She didn't want Draco to know about Amy. No matter if she loved him or not, Draco Malfoy, in many ways, terrified her. The last thing she wanted was to see him hurt, or have him hurt her. She was afraid, and just as before, fear tripped the trigger. But this one had nothing to do with magic, and everything to do with the young witch's heart. Whatever happened next, Ceres Genavieve could no longer be held accountable.

For the first time since last week, Draco Malfoy did not know what to do.

Not-very-old tears were shining on Ceres' face, and the look in those eyes predicted more to come. Everyone was stuck in pause in what had to be one of the most awkward silences in history. All he wanted was to take her in his arms, and to hell with the witness and to hell with the consequences. Even her closest friend was silent, unable to throw an insult at the so-hated Slytherin prince.

It was a silence so profound one could have heard a quill drop in the Astronomy Tower from there. And every second that passed brought the blonde man no closer to the appropriate response. He couldn't risk her harm, and he couldn't bear to see her hurt. Fortunately, the woman of his affections decided for him. The normally outspoken girl stumbled over words that may have been "Draco, please forgive me," and threw herself at him as if he were the last stable on this world, for to this girl he was exactly that. And the pureblood caught her, holding her gently but close, as if the slightest pressure would cause the lovely woman to break. It was not untrue.

He held her in this way until she fell silent and still. Only then did he speak.

"Exactly what am I forgiving you for?" he asked, and his tone was light and approachable.

"Well," she mumbled, "you see, I, um, sort of…"

"I know," the brunette girl spoke, stepping forward to converse in a lower volume. Her eyes were deeply serious, "I know everything. And you can't be mad at Ceri. I would have figured it out anyway, but this way I won't hate you forever. In fact, I'm kind of on your side."

"Really?"

"No a chance in hell, Malfoy. I'm on Ceres side, always, no matter where that takes her."

The boy in question looked down at the beautiful creature in his arms, who looked up at him in silent anxiety. The tension between the two was so palpable, it was astonishing to Amy how the two could keep up the act for so long, day in day out.

"It's alright love, you did what you had to do. I would rather have an ally than another enemy."

Ceres almost collapsed in relief, her shoulders sagging as the oxygen escaped. With one crisis averted, the weight of the others instantly came roaring back. As always, it only brought on more questions.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "It's not even after nine."

"I don't know, but we need to get you back to your common, both of you,"

"Why?"

"What's going on?" the girls asked in rapid succession, enough to make anyone's head spin.

"The kind that makes Severus Snape suggest that I abandon my shift tonight. So, as much as I want to spend time with you Ceres, surviving this night is of much greater importance."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Haven't you heard, love? I'm a bad, bad man,"

"No," she shook her head, studying the young deception artist with a gentle smile, "you're not. If you were, you wouldn't be here right now," pressing soft lips to his cold, pale cheek. If Ceres didn't know any better, should have sworn Draco Malfoy was blushing.

"Okay, hate to break you love birds up, but there is something out here that's got Snape's knickers in a bunch. We need to the bloody hell _out of __**here**_**."**

It was only as they started back to the common room that it hit her.

_Did he just call me love?_

But as the three came to discover, they weren't getting anywhere. No where safe at least. For at the entrance to Gryffindor tower was there was no Fat Lady, and almost no painting to speak of at all. The now empty canvas was ripped to shreds, the frame broken into pieces. Wooden splinters and shattered glass littered the floor, crunching and snapping beneath their feet. Ceres was mind blown. What the _hell_ where they going to do now?

"Shit," was the only word she could find.

Draco nodded in agreement, "That about sums it up."

"He's back!" Amy near-screamed in hysterics, "Sirius Black! He's come back for the boy who lived!"

"Not necessarily," the boy muttered, kneeling above the floor on the balls of his feet. Ceres immediately saw what he meant; covering everything was a fine silver sheen, like a steel oil smear. The murder of legend could do many things, but the American was fairly certain this wasn't one of them.

"What the fuck is this stuff?"

"A trap," a fourth voice not belonging to either of the students spoke, "They want to keep you within their reach. Easier to kill you, I suspect."

Three bodies whipped around in a break neck speed such that it looked painful. There in the hallway stood a man that two out of the three did not recognize. A _man_ of short stature, no more than five and a half feet, with long dark hair tied back, skin the pallor of a winter sky, and deadly serious ice blue eyes. He wore a knee length black coat, midnight blue dress shirt, and black slack, all modern elegance save for the various blades strapped to his person. Anyone of intelligence would flee in terror from such a fellow. Ceres Genavieve flung herself at the stranger in an affectionate embrace.

"Desmond! Its so good to see you."

"And you," He smiled, pointed canines flashing ever so slightly, "If only it were on better terms."

Draco's wand was in hand before he had to think about it.

"Define 'better terms'."

The vampire shook his head in dismay as they slowly separated. Once again the little witch was over her head in the deep end of a very dark and dangerous pool. The younger man coldly sneered,

"Pardon my intrusion, but who the blood hell are you?"

He didn't phase the man for a moment, who only blinked and looked to the red-head once again.

"This would be the boy you spoke of?" She nodded, so the vampire went on, "I am Desmond Montesquieu, it is good to make your acquaintance at last mister Malfoy," holding out his hand, which after a moments hesitance, the boy finally grasped with his own. Both Malfoy and Costova looked as if they had been struck between the eyes with a a copy of Hogwarts, a History.

Ceres chose to blatantly ignore this, and move along.

"And this is my good friend, Amelia Costova."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," he curtsied, pressing his lips to her hand in a measure of respect. The girl was too stunned to reply.

"Desmond," the American stammered, "not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?"

"Furthermore," Draco added, stepping forward to be at his girlfriends side, "what the bloody hell are we dealing with here?"

"Angry unicorn stampede?" Amy suggested, earning three sets of glares. She didn't say anything else.

"I have heard rumors, nothing more. I believe them to be greatly exaggerated."

"Why?"

"Because the creature hasn't been seen in over a thousand years. They're believed to be extinct. But that doesn't matter now. What matters is that you three get to Dumbledore's office. Do not tell him of my involvement, only what he needs to know."

"Which is?" Ceres asked, clutching the wand as if it were the only sure thing in this world.

"That Hogwarts is no longer safe."

Draco Malfoy held her hand other firmly, trying to mask his own desperation, his fear. He gave her a wavering smile. She gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"We'll be alright," she assured him, "Desmond and I have been through worse. There was this one time, where I accidentally summoned an—" but looks from Amy and the vampire silenced her nervous bantering. Blushing, she whispered. "I'll tell you about it some other time."

The muggle-born shook her head in dismay as an idea suddenly struck her, "You know," she thought out loud, "this could all be so easily avoidable with the cunning use of cellphones. I could just TEXT Ginny: "Oh snap! Something's creeping in the always, destroying our paintings. Could you kindly let me in? Kay thanks, Ceres."

This time all three companions turned to look at the girl with three matching looks of dumbfoundedness, before speaking in somehow perfect synchronization, "What the hell is cell phone?"

"Oh nevermind," she muttered, barely audible to anyone else. "Stupid purebloods and vampires and your technophobia."

But in all honesty, Draco didn't care about any of it. The vampires, the demons, or Voldemort himself. _He_ was here with _her. _Let them come. Let the shadows do their worst. Let them try. Nothing was going to tear them apart. Draco Lucius Malfoy would not allow it.

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_A/N~ Holy cow in its been a while. College is in its final months, so I've been neck-deep in school work, and I somehow have to add a third job to my growing repertoire of doom. So! Please R&R, lemme know what you think, good or bad. Much love to everyone who just started reading this, and those who still do. You keep my dreams alive._


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